July 6, 1864
We have no rain
here — never expect any; air hazy with a faint dust, finer than twice volted
flour, which settles on everything — but that won't kill anybody. So
Ewell is (or was — don't know his whereabouts at this precise moment) at
Harper's Ferry. We knew he was poking up there somewhere. As to the A. of P.,
it is sitting here, trying to get some fresh cabbages, not very successfully,
so far — the last issue, I am told, furnished one small one to every fifteen
men. Old Uncle Lee is “in posish,” as General Williams would say, and seems to
remark: “Here I am; I have sent off Ewell; now why don't you come on?” I
suppose you think I speak flippantly of what the French call the “situation”;
but one gets so desperate that it is no use to be serious. Last night, after I
had got to bed, I heard the officer of the day go with a despatch into the
General's tent and wake him up. Presently the General said: “Very well, tell
General Wright to send a good division. I suppose it will be Ricketts's.” And
he turned over and went asleep again. Not so Ricketts, who was speedily waked
up and told to march to City Point, thence to take steamers for Washington, or
rather for Baltimore. We do not appreciate now, how much time, and labor, and
disappointment, and reorganization, and turning out bad officers, have to be
done, before an army can be got in such condition that a division of several
thousand men may be suddenly waked at midnight and, within an hour or so, be on
the march, each man with his arms and ammunition ready, and his rations in his
haversack. Now, nobody thinks of it. General Meade says, “Send Ricketts”;
and turns over and goes to sleep. General Ricketts says, “Wake the Staff and
saddle the horses.” By the time this is done, he has written some little slips
of paper, and away gallop the officers to the brigade commanders, who wake the
regimental, who wake the company, who wake the non-commissioned, who wake the
privates. And each particular private, uttering his particular oath, rises with
a groan, rolls up his shelter-tent, if he has one, straps on his blanket, if he
has not long since thrown it away, and is ready for the word “Fall in!” When
General Ricketts is informed that all are ready, he says: “Very well, let the
column move” — or something of that sort. There is a great shouting of “By the
right flank, forward!” and off goes Ricketts, at the head of his troops, bound
for City Point; and also bound, I much regret to say, for the Monocacy,1
where I fancy his poor men stood up and did all the fighting. From what I hear,
I judge we had there about 10,000, of whom a good part were next to worthless.
The Rebs had, I think, some 12,000, all good troops. This General Wallace is
said by officers here to be no general at all, though brave; and General Tyler
is the man whom General Humphreys had tried for cowardice, or some misbehavior
in the presence of the enemy; and who has, in consequence, an undying hate for
the Chief-of-Staff. I remember thinking to myself, as I went to sleep — “division
— why don't they send a corps and make a sure thing?” Behold my military
forethought!
_______________
1 Monocacy Bridge — the scene of Early's
defeat of Lew Wallace, which terrified Washington, and caused much
consternation in the North.
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 184-5
No comments:
Post a Comment