Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 17, 1862

Two letters to-day, and two papers, all from home. Seems as if I had been there for a visit. I wonder if my letters give them as much pleasure? I expect they do. It is natural they should. I know pretty nearly what they are about, but of me, they only know what I write in my letters, and in this, my everlasting letter, as I have come to call my diary. It is getting to be real company for me. It is my one real confident. I sometimes think it is a waste of time and paper, and then I think how glad I would be to get just such nonsense from my friends, if our places were changed. I suppose they study out these crow's tracks with more real interest than they would a message from President Lincoln. We are looking for a wet bed again to-night. It does not rain, but a thick fog covers everything and the wind blows it in one side of our tents and out the other.

Maybe I have described our life here before, but as no one description can do it justice I am going to try again. We are in a field of 100 acres, as near as I can judge, on the side of a hill, near the top. The ground is newly seeded and wets up quickly, as such ground usually does. We sleep in pairs, and a blanket spread on the ground is our bed while another spread over us is our covering. A narrow strip of muslin, drawn over a pole about three feet from the ground, open at both ends, the wind and rain, if it does rain, beating in upon us, and water running under and about us; this, with all manner of bugs and creeping things crawling over us, and all the while great hungry mosquitoes biting every uncovered inch of us, is not an overdrawn picture of that part of a soldier's life, set apart for the rest and repose necessary to enable him to endure several hours of right down hard work at drill, in a hot sun with heavy woollen clothes on, every button of which must be tight-buttoned, and by the time the officers are tired watching us, we come back to camp wet through with perspiration and too tired to make another move. Before morning our wet clothes chill us to the marrow of our bones, and why we live, and apparently thrive under it, is something I cannot understand. But we do, and the next day are ready for more of it. Very few even take cold. It is a part of the contract, and while we grumble and growl among ourselves we don't really mean it, for we are learning what we will be glad to know at some future time.

Now I am about it, and nothing better to do, I will say something about our kitchen, dining room and cooking arrangements. Some get mad and cuss the cooks, and the whole war department, but that is usually when our stomachs are full. When we are hungry we swallow anything that comes and are thankful for it. The cook house is simply a portion of the field we are in. A couple of crotches hold up a pole on which the camp kettles are hung, and under which a fire is built. Each company has one, and as far as I know they are all alike. The camp kettles are large sheet-iron pails, one larger than the other so one can be put inside the other when moving. If we have meat and potatoes, meat is put in one, and potatoes in the other. The one that gets cooked first is emptied into mess pans, which are large sheet-iron pans with flaring sides, so one can be packed in another. Then the coffee is put in the empty kettle and boiled. The bread is cut into thick slices, and the breakfast call sounds. We grab our plates and cups, and wait for no second invitation. We each get a piece of meat and a potato, a chunk of bread and a cup of coffee with a spoonful of brown sugar in it. Milk and butter we buy, or go without. We settle down, generally in groups, and the meal is soon over. Then we wash our dishes, and put them back in our haversacks. We make quick work of washing dishes. We save a piece of bread for the last, with which we wipe up everything, and then eat the dish rag. Dinner and breakfast are alike, only sometimes the meat and potatoes are cut up and cooked together, which makes a really delicious stew. Supper is the same, minus the meat and potatoes. The cooks are men detailed from the ranks for that purpose. Every one smokes or chews tobacco here, so we find no fault because the cooks do both. Boxes or barrels are used as kitchen tables, and are used for seats between meals. The meat and bread are cut on them, and if a scrap is left on the table the flies go right at it and we have so many the less to crawl over us. They are never washed, but are sometimes scraped off and made to look real clean. I never yet saw the cooks wash their hands, but presume they do when they go to the brook for water.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 28-31

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, Monday, September 22, 1862

Knapsack drill to-day,—something new to me, though I am told it is to take place every Sunday morning when in camp. As we were not here yesterday, it was put off until to-day. We marched out to the drill ground with our knapsacks on, expecting to practice as usual, except that we were loaded that much heavier. As all our belongings were in our knapsacks, they were quite heavy. We formed in column by companies and were told to "unsling knapsacks." We all had to be coached, but we finally stood at attention with our knapsacks lying on the ground wide open before us. Then the colonel, the major and the captain of the company being inspected, marched along and with the tip of their swords poked over the contents, regardless of how precious they might be to us. And such a sight as they saw! Besides our extra underclothing, some clean and some unclean, there were Bibles, whiskey bottles, novels, packs of cards, love letters and photographs, revolvers and dirk knives, pen and ink, paper and envelopes and postage stamps, and an endless variety of odds and ends we had picked up in our travels.

As soon as the inspection was over with Company A, they were marched back to camp and so all along the line until Company B, the last of all, was reached. When we got back to camp some of the companies had been there long enough to get asleep. Nothing more was required of us, and we put in the time as we chose, provided always that we observed the camp regulations.

I may never have so good a chance, so I will try and explain some of the things we have learned to do and how we do it. Begin with roll-call. The orderly sergeant, Lew Holmes, has our names in a book, arranged in alphabetical order in one place, and in the order in which we march in another. If it is simply to see if we are all here, he sings out "Fall in for roll-call" and we get in line, with no regard to our proper places, and answer to our names as called from the alphabetical list. If for drill, "Fall in for drill!" and then we take our places with the tallest man at the right, and so on, till the last and shortest man is in place on the left. We are then in a single line, by company front. The orderly then points at the first man and says "One," which the man repeats. He then points to the second man and says "Two," which is also repeated. So it goes down the line, the one, two, being repeated, and each man being careful to remember whether he is odd or even. When that is done, and it is very quickly done, the orderly commands, "Right face!" The odd-numbered men simply swing on the left heel one quarter of the way around and stand fast. The even-numbered men do the same, and in addition step obliquely to the right of the odd-numbered man, bringing us in a double line and one step apart, which distance we must carefully keep, so that when the order "Front!" is given, we can, by reversing the movement of "Right face!" come to our places without crowding. When coming to a front, the line is not apt to be straight and the order "Right dress!" is given, when the man on the right stands fast and the one next to him puts himself squarely by his side. The next moves back or forth until he can just see the buttons on the coat of the second man to his right,—that is, with his head erect, he must look past one man and just see the buttons on the coat of the second man from him. That makes the line as straight as you can draw a string. "Left face!" is the same thing reversed. In marching, one has only to keep step with the one next in front of him. If this is done, the blame for irregular time all comes upon the file leaders, which are the two in front; they must keep step together. If Company B is going out to drill by itself it is now ready. If, however, the entire regiment is to drill together, as it has a few times, Company A marches out first, and as the rear passes where Company F is standing the latter falls in, close behind; and so each company, until Company B, which is the left of the line, and the last to go, falls in and fills up the line, Why the companies are arranged in the line as they are is a mystery I have so far failed to find out. From right to left they come in the following order: A, F, D, I, C, H, E, K, G and B. A is said to have the post of honor, because in marching by the right flank it is ahead, and meets danger first if there be any. Company B has the next most honorable position, because in marching by the left flank it is in the lead. There is a great advantage in being in the lead. On a march the files will open, more or less, and when a halt is ordered the company in the lead stops short. The other companies keep closing up the files, and by the time the ranks are closed "Attention!" may sound, and another start be made. The first company has had quite a breathing spell, while the last has had very little, if any. If I were to enlist again, I would try hard to get in Company A, for all the marching we have so far done has been by the right flank, Company A at the head and Company B bringing up the rear. When we reach the field we are generally broken up into companies, each company drilling in marching by the front, wheeling to the right and left, and finally coming together again before marching back to camp.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 34-6

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne, September 29, 1862

CAMP MILLINGTON, BALTIMORE. On account of the heat we were not taken out for drill to-day. We have cleaned up our quarters, for since getting our new and comfortable tents we are quite particular about appearances. There is a friendly rivalry as to which of the ten companies shall have the neatest quarters. All being exactly alike to start with, it depends upon us to keep them neat and shipshape. The cooks have tents as well as we, and altogether we are quite another sort from what we were a week ago. It has been a regular clean up day with us. The brook below us has carried off dirt enough from our clothing and bodies to make a garden. While we were there close beside the railroad, a train loaded with soldiers halted, and while we were joking with the men, someone fired a pistol from another passing train, and a sergeant on the standing train was killed—whether it was by accident or purposely done, no one knows; or whether the guilty one will be found out and punished, no one of us can tell. But I wonder so few accidents do happen. There are hundreds of revolvers in camp and many of them in the hands of those who know no better how to use them than a child.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 40-1

Diary of Private John J. Wyeth, September 10, 1862

Our barracks look finely now, and we are getting much more accustomed to soldiers' life. We have had continuous drilling, our officers taking turns drilling us, but here is where the difference comes in between officers and men; they take turns tramping us up and down that old field, while we take turns every time. It is hardly six of one and half-dozen of the other.

SOURCE: John Jasper Wyeth, Leaves from a Diary Written While Serving in Co. E, 44 Mass. Dep’t of North Carolina from September 1862 to June 1863, p. 8

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: March 6, 1864

Since our return to this land of cotton, sallow humanity and scotch snuff, the boys have been looking blue. The fond caresses and the beautiful smiles they received while among the loyal people, have well nigh spoiled the Seventh, but the bugle's blast, the whoop, the charge and the fray will soon give new vigor and point to the soldier's life; will soon draw their minds in from their wanderings and concentrate them on naught but the war line. Though they will not banish those images, they will think of them only secondary to war and victory. This evening we receive orders to be ready to move in the morning with six days' rations.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 226-7

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, January 16, 1863

This morning the boys are seen wending their way to the timber to chop wood. It is very cold, and the boys are kept busy getting fuel. It snows all day, and except those detailed to get wood, the boys keep close around the camp fires, busily engaged at something. Some talking of home and friends, some about the armies, and others about the Emancipation Proclamation. Some are perusing old Waverlys, and others amusing themselves with Harper's cuts, one has a volume of Shakspeare with his mind following intently the dramatic play of Edward the "three times.” We are wondering now, how the leaders of northern democracy would feel could they hear the comments made, and the anathemas heaped upon their devoted heads by the soldiers, sitting around the winter camp-fires to-night in Mississippi. We are of the opinion that they would not consider themselves very much flattered.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 131

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Sunday, January 18, 1863

This morning we find the clouds have disappeared, and the sun is shining brightly on the carpet of snow that mantles the earth, but it is cold, and the soldiers are compelled to keep close around the camp fires. Such weather was never known in this climate, and the citizens say that it is caused by the Yankee's superhuman agency. This evening it is all mud—the snow did not tarry long. And yet the cry goes forth fromthe “P. O." "no mail—"no papers." Oh! cruel fates!

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 132

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, January 23, 1863

"Hello, Hampton, I'll bet you ten dollars that my rooster can whip yours!". cries a soldier across the way, “Well, done!” replies Hampton of Company K, and a crowd of soldiers assembles, sprinkled considerably with shoulder straps—the fight commences; they show pluck-show that they have been well trained, but Hampton's rooster gets vanquished, so decide the judges. Thus the weary hours are killed in the camp of the Seventh.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 133

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Saturday, January 24, 1863

It is raining to-day. The soldiers keep in their tents, some reading, some writing. All peaceful and quiet this evening.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 133

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Sunday, January 25, 1863

Still raining; how dreary the hours, and how slowly they pass away; what a dull monotony reigns in camp, and the cry is for something to dispel it. The soldier's prayer is for action; yes, give us action, for action gives vigor to life, and value to being. Let us bear the old flag on.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 133

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Monday, October 13, 1862

This morning the Seventh is busy cleaning and scouring up the guns, which is the soldier's first duty after a battle is over. Troops keep coming in from the front all day. Orders are now issued to the effect that the Division is to be newly brigaded, and in consequence we move our camp this evening close to General McArthur's headquarters. We do not pitch our tents, but spread them down upon the ground and sleep upon them during the night.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 118

Captain Charles Wright Wills: July 16, 1864

July 16, 1864, 76th of the Campaign.

I can hear no firing to-day, but we are so far from the right or center that we could hear nothing less than a 13-inch mortar. I will tell you all I know of the situation just to let you know how little a soldier knows of what is going on. In papers of this date you will see twice as much. The 17th Army Corps lies on the right bank of the river, and to the right of the army, six miles below the railroad crossing, skirmishing with the enemy on the opposite side. Next comes the 20th, 14th and 4th on the same side, the 4th lying across the railroad four miles, further up the 23d crossed the river, but probably only holds a position, as we do. Then the 16th Corps joins the left of the 23d, and the 15th last, both on the left bank. Not being perfect in heavy strategy, I can't exactly see the point, but no doubt Sherman does. I suppose the 4th, 14th and 20th Corps will cross near the railroad bridge, and be the first to occupy Atlanta. If we can't get to give Johnston a sound thrashing, I don't care about marching another step until fall. Health of the regiment still good, but we are expecting sickness soon. We have had a terrific thunderstorm, killed five men and wounded eight in the 18th Missouri, and killed a teamster and some mules. I never saw but one or two more severe ones.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 279-80

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: June 1, 1865

Fine weather. All is very quiet. The country has on its summer dress. Looks fine. The most important question with us is, home, sweet home, when do we go. Soldier's life at this time is a dull one. Our only interest is our dress parades. We have many visitors from town.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 153-4

Major Wilder Dwight: February 9, 1862

Cantonment Hicks, February 9, 1862, near Frederick.

If I could take the wings of this brisk, sunny morning, I would certainly fold them on our front-door steps in Brookline. Nor would I then proceed to hide my head under the wings, but, having flapped them cheerfully, I would thereupon crow!

But, as the wings and a furlough are both wanting, I must content myself with a web-footed, amphibious existence in the mud of Maryland.

There is a secession song which enjoys a surreptitious parlor popularity here. It is called, “Maryland, — my Maryland!” and rehearses, among other things, that “the despot's heel is on thy breast!” If that be so, all I have got to say is, that, just now, the heel has the worst of it. Yet there is a just satisfaction in this morning's inspection of men, tents, and kitchens, — to see how, by discipline, method, and fidelity, there is a successful contest maintained with all the elements. The neatness and order of our camp, in spite of mud, is a “volunteer miracle.”

You will be glad to know that the regiment is now in fine health. We already begin to count the days till spring. Of course, it is unsafe to predict the climate. I remember very well, however, that last February was quite dry, and that early in March dust, and not mud, was the enemy I found in Washington. It may well be, therefore, that there is a good time coming.

Indeed, has it not, in one sense, already come? Can you blind yourself to the omens and the tendencies? What shall we say of those statesmen of a budding empire, a new State, which is to give the law to the commerce and industry of the world through a single monopoly? What shall we say of the statesmen (Cobb, Toombs, etc.) who counsel their happy and chivalrous people to a general bonfire of house, home, and product? There's a new industry for a new State. King Cotton is a rare potentate. He proposes to be, himself, his own circulating medium, among other eccentricities.

Then, too, what admirable inferiority of fortification they succeed in erecting! Will our fleet of gunboats have as easy victories over all their river defences? and, if so, how far are we from Memphis? and where is Porter going with his “Mortar Fleet.” Among the ablest of our naval commanders, he is not bent on a fool's errand. When Jeff Davis sleeps o’ nights, does he dream of power?

But I've given you too many questions. In the midst of all this jubilant interrogatory, when will our time come? Just as soon as the mud dries, without a doubt.

Our life jogs on here without variety. For the most part, we spend our time in reading military books and talking military talk.

I am just now a good deal disturbed by the prospect of disbanding the bands. A greater mistake could not be made. The man with so little music in his soul as to vote for it is fit for — a Secessionist. Marshal Saxe, in introducing the cadenced step in the French infantry, says, “Music exerts a great and secret power over us. It disposes ‘nos organes aux exercises du corps, les soulagent dans ces exercises. On danse toute une nuit au son des instruments mais personne ne resterait à danser pendant un quart d’heure, seulement, sans musique.’” I have seen many a practical verification of this in the gathering freshness and quickness with which jaded men went on their march when the music called and cheered them.

Besides, we want the Star Spangled Banner, and its melody, as allies against the Rebel seductions.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 194-6

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: September 14, 1864

A quiet morning in our camp. Resting and trying to get a little comfort out of life. Talking and living over our service during the past year, not forgetting our unfortunate comrades who were killed and wounded, prisoners. The life of a soldier in war is a severe and sad one. Wonderful what men can endure.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 124

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: September 15, 1864

Weather fine. At this time duty is light in our camp near this town. Getting all the comfort we can out of our soldier life. Writing many letters to friends in good old Connecticut.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 124-5

Diary of Corporal Charles H. Lynch: September 8, 1864

This morning comes in cool and very cloudy. An opportunity given us to send money home. I sent seventy dollars to put in bank. Did not wish to carry so much with me. One cannot tell what might happen to a soldier, for we remember that every battle kills a soldier. Orders came about ten A. M. to fall in, double quick. The result was we made a forced march across country, through muddy lots, until we came to Summit Point, near the Winchester Pike. A hard march that put us on the right of the line of battle. A march of about ten miles from Charlestown to Winchester Pike. Why it was a forced march in a cold rain storm, we cannot tell. It was through Virginia sticky mud. At this point all things seem to be quiet. Orders to make camp and put up our shelter tents. This all comes in the life of a soldier in the field during war. Obey orders and don't ask questions.

SOURCE: Charles H. Lynch, The Civil War Diary, 1862-1865, of Charles H. Lynch 18th Conn. Vol's, p. 122-3

Major Wilder Dwight: December 11, 1861

Camp Hicks, December 11, 1861, near Frederick.

I am building a house this morning. It is well for a young man to get settled in life; and to build house and keep house may, in general, be stated as the sum of his whole temporal endeavor. My own achievement in this direction will be rapid and decisive. Four trees, as scantling, a board floor on them, and a surrounding pen four feet high, are now in progress. Over this pen my tent will be pitched, and I can defy the storm. It is a structure thought in the morning and acted before night. It is not firmly fixed on earth, and so illustrates the frail tenure of our hold on this sunny camp, again analogizing life itself. It is also just the size for one. In this, perhaps, it is seriously defective, though, in a great part of the earnest endeavor of life, it is not bad for man to be alone. At all events, no military authority indicates a wife as a part of camp equipage. I have called my immediate business housekeeping. Let it not be thought that a regiment is without its domestic cares. They are manifold. To make the cook and the steward harmonize is more difficult than to form the battalion in line of battle. I should like much to greet you in my new house, and have a family party at the house-warming.

We are moving, too, the question of a stable for one hundred wagon-horses. It is a question that will settle itself shortly. We procrastinate it naturally through this warm weather; but the cold will soon snap us up again, and then we shall go to work at it. But this uncertainty of the future, which every rumor aggravates, does not favor preparation. Political economists, you know, tell us that a secure confidence in the quiet enjoyment of the fruits of industry is a condition of all industrial development, and without it there is no wealth. We are illustrating that maxim. “No winter quarters,” says McClellan. “Onward!” howl the politicians. “You must not draw lumber or boards,” echoes the quartermaster. Such is our dilemma. I am attempting both horns by my extempore device of half house, half tent.

I did not finish my house yesterday, but this (Thursday) evening I am writing at my new table in my new house. It is perfectly jolly. I take great pride in my several ingenious devices for bed, washstand, front door (a sliding door), &c., &c. I had four carpenters detailed from the regiment. They gradually got interested in the work, and wrought upon it with love. The dimensions are nine feet square, and the tent just stretches down square over it.

My little stove is humming on the hearth as blithely as possible. I received last night your pleasant letter of Monday, the first which has come direct to Frederick. This gives cheerful assurance of a prompt mail. . . . .

So will be settled before Christmas. He is to be congratulated. He has opened for himself a large sphere of duty and usefulness. This is enough to kindle the endeavor and invigorate the confidence, and so he is fortunate.. . . . .

We have had the development, since our arrival here, of one of those little tragedies that thrill a man with pain. A young man, who came out as a new recruit with Captain Abbott to our unlucky camp at Seneca, was down, low down, with typhoid fever when we were ready to march. Our surgeon decided it unsafe to move him, and so he was left in the temporary hospital at Darnestown, in charge of the surgeon there. After we left, the brigade surgeon of the brigade decided to move the hospital at once; packed the poor boy, mercilessly, into a canal-boat with the rest; took him up to Point of Rocks, and thence by rail to Frederick; spent nearly thirty-six hours on the way, distance thirty miles. When the boy arrived here he was almost gone. Neglect, exposure, disease, had worked their perfect work.

It is said, and I see no reason to doubt the statement, that his feet were frozen when he was taken from the cars! He died soon after his arrival. You may have seen that the newspapers have got hold of that disgraceful blundering in transporting the sick to Washington. I must have spoken of it in a former letter.

I consider the Medical Director guilty of the death of our young soldier just as much as if he had deliberately left him alone to starve.

It is such incidents as this that expose the inefficiency of our whole hospital organization. Alas! almost every department is equally listless and incapable. But the sufferings of the sick soldier appeal more directly to the heart than other shortcomings.

Since we have been in camp here we have had a court-martial vigorously at work punishing all the peccadilloes of the march, and the indiscretions consequent upon a sudden exposure to the temptations of civilization and enlightenment, — to wit, whiskey.

In my tour of duty yesterday, as field-officer of the day, I found that one of the guard posted in the village of Newmarket had stopped a pedler's cart, and seized a quantity of whiskey intended to sell to soldiers. The pedler was quite ingenious. He packed first a layer of pies, then a layer of whiskey-bottles, and so on. His barrel looked as innocent as a sucking dove on top, but was full of the sucking serpent within. I ordered him to be taken out in the middle of the main street, to have his hat taken off, his offence proclaimed to the people, and the whiskey destroyed. It was quite an effective, and, I hope, terror-striking penalty. . . . .

It is now Friday morning, — bright, but cool. This fine weather is happiness in itself.

SOURCE: Elizabeth Amelia Dwight, Editor, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight: Lieut.-Col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols., p. 169-72

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, November 1, 1863

Headquarters Army Of The Potomac

November 1, 1863

Buford was here last night, and said he thought he could just “boolge” across the river and scare the Rebels to death; which would certainly be a highly desirable event, for we should have quite a chance of a visit home. As it is, no resignations are accepted and scarcely a soul is allowed to go home, even for a visit of two or three days. The life here is miserably lazy; hardly an order to carry, and the horses all eating their heads off. The weather is fine, to be sure, and everybody, nearly, is well; but that is all the more reason for wishing something done. I do not even have the drudgery of drill and parade and inspection, that the infantrymen have. If one could only be at home, till one was wanted, and then be on the spot; but this is everywhere the way of war; lie still and lie still; then up and manoeuvre and march hard; then a big battle; and then a lot more lie still.

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 40-1

Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Lyman to Elizabeth Russell Lyman, October 26, 1863

Headquarters Army Of Potomac

October 26, 1863

Ah! we are a doleful set of papas here. Said General Meade: “I do wish the Administration would get mad with me, and relieve me; I am sure I keep telling them, if they don't feel satisfied with me, to relieve me; then I could go home and see my family in Philadelphia.” I believe there never was a man so utterly without common ambition and, at the same time, so Spartan and conscientious in everything he does. He is always stirring up somebody. This morning it was the cavalry picket line, which extends for miles, and which he declared was ridiculously placed. But, by worrying, and flaring out unexpectedly on various officers, he does manage to have things pretty ship-shape; so that an officer of Lee's Staff, when here the other day, said: “Meade's move can't be beat.” Did I tell you that Lee passed through Warrenton and passed a night. He was received with bouquets and great joy.  . . . The last three nights have been cool, almost cold, with some wind, so that they have been piling up the biggest kind of camp-fires. You would laugh to see me in bed! First, I spread an india-rubber blanket on the ground, on which is laid a cork mattress, which is a sort of pad, about an inch thick, which you can roll up small for packing. On this comes a big coat, and then I retire, in flannel shirt and drawers, and cover myself, head and all, with three blankets, laying my pate on a greatcoat folded, with a little india-rubber pillow on top; and so I sleep very well, though the surface is rather hard and lumpy. I have not much to tell you of yesterday, which was a quiet Sunday. Many officers went to hear the Rebs preach, but I don't believe in the varmint. They ingeniously prayed for “all established magistrates”; though, had we not been there, they would have roared for the safety of Jeff Davis and Bob Lee! . . .

SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness to Appomattox, p. 38-9