August 1, 1864
I waked at about six in the morning and heard the General
say, “Very well, then, let the truce be from five to nine.” Whereby I knew that
Beauregard had agreed to a cessation of hostilities for the burial of the dead
and relief of the wounded. After struggling awhile with my indolence, I tumbled
out of bed, waked Rosencrantz and ordered my horse. We speedily got ready and
sallied forth to look at the field. We rode into a piece of pine woods, at the
corner of which I was during the assault of the 18th of June. Some of the
advanced camps were here, the danger of their position being plainly marked by
the banks of earth put up by each tent. Getting out of the wood, we came on an
open tract, a good deal elevated. Here, on the left, and by the ruins of a
house was a heavy battery, known as the Taylor house battery. And here too
begins the “covered way.” Before I saw real operations I never could understand
the management of cannon. On the principle of your battle on “the great white
plain,” I had an idea that all the guns were put in the front line: else how
could they hit anybody? But really there are often no cannon at all there, all
being placed in a second or a third line, or in isolated batteries in these
relative positions. One of our heavy siege guns would sometimes have to fire as
many as 1700 yards to hit the enemy's breastwork. You see that cannon-shot must
rise high in the air to go any distance; so they fire over each other's heads.
In practice this system is not without its dangers, owing to the imperfections
of shells. In spite of the great advances, much remains to be done in the fuses
of shells; as it is, not a battle is fought that some of our men are not killed
by shells exploding short and hitting our troops instead of the enemy's,
beyond. Sometimes it is the fuse that is imperfect, sometimes the artillerists
lose their heads and make wrong estimates of distance. From these blunders very
valuable officers have lost their lives. Prudent commanders, when there is any
doubt, fire only solid shot, which do not explode, and do excellent service in
bounding over the ground.
We got off our horses at the edge of the wood and took to
the covered way (we might better have ridden). A covered way is singularly
named, as it is open on top. It is simply a trench, about four feet wide, with
the dirt thrown up on the side towards the enemy. It should be deep enough to
cover a man standing upright. The great thing is, so to run it that the enemy cannot
get a sight of it lengthwise, as they could then enfilade it. To this
end the way is run zig-zag, and advantage is taken of every hollow, or knoll,
that may afford shelter. I was not impressed with the first part of our covered
way, as it could be shot into in many places, and was so shallow that it
covered me no higher than the shoulders. Probably it was dug by a small officer
who was spiteful against men of great inches. . . . We scrambled up the
opposite steep bank and stood at the high breastwork of Burnside's advanced
salient. The parapet was crowded with troops, looking silently at the scene of
the late struggle. We got also on the parapet and at once saw everything.
Opposite, and a little above us, distant about 350 feet, was the rough edge of the
crater, made by the mine. There were piles of gravel and of sand, and shapeless
masses of hard clay, all tumbled on top of each other. Upon the ridge thus
formed, and upon the remains of the breastwork, stood crowds of Rebel soldiers
in their slouched hats and ghostly grey uniforms. Really they looked like
malevolent spirits, towering to an unnatural height against the sky. Each party
had a line of sentries close to his works, and, in the midst, stood an officer
with a white flag, where the burial parties were at work.1 I jumped
down and passed towards the enemy's line, where only officers were allowed to
go, with the details for work. I do not make a practice of describing
disagreeable spectacles, and will only say that I can never again see anything
more horrible than this glacis before the mine. It did not take long to satisfy
our curiosity, and we returned to camp, getting in just as the General was at
breakfast. He takes his disappointments before Petersburg in an excellent
spirit; and, when the “Herald” this morning said he was to be relieved and not
to have another command, he laughed and said: “Oh, that's bad; that's very bad!
I should have to go and live in that house in Philadelphia; ha! ha! ha!” The
papers will tell you that Grant has gone to Washington. As I don't know what
for, I can make Yankee guesses. I presume our father Abraham looks on his
election prospects as waning, and wants to know of Ulysses, the warrior, if
some man or some plan can't be got to do some thing. In
one word he wants to know — WHY THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC DON'T MOVE. A month
since there was a talk of putting Hancock at the head: that is, losing the most
brilliant of corps commanders and risking (there is always a risk) the making
of a mediocre army commander!
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1 “The Rebels were meanly employing their negro
prisoners in this work.” — Lyman's Journal.
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 201-4
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