Headquarters Army Of Potomac
Wednesday, May 18,
1864
I have no right to complain: I have less hardship, more
ease, and less exposure than most officers, and, if I must be with the army in
the field, I have as good a place as one can well expect. I did hope (though
there was no proper ground for it) that we might have the great blessing of an
overwhelming victory. Such things you read of in books, but they do not happen
often, particularly with such armies to oppose as those of the Rebels. . . .
The great feature of this campaign is the extraordinary use
made of earthworks. When we arrive on the ground, it takes of course a
considerable time to put troops in position for attack, in a wooded country;
then skirmishers must be thrown forward and an examination made for the point
of attack, and to see if there be any impassable obstacles, such as streams or
swamps. Meantime what does the enemy? Hastily forming a line of battle, they
then collect rails from fences, stones, logs and all other materials, and pile them
along the line; bayonets with a few picks and shovels, in the hands of men who
work for their lives, soon suffice to cover this frame with earth and sods; and
within one hour, there is a shelter against bullets, high enough to cover a man
kneeling, and extending often for a mile or two. When our line advances, there
is the line of the enemy, nothing showing but the bayonets, and the
battle-flags stuck on the top of the work. It is a rule that, when the Rebels
halt, the first day gives them a good rifle-pit; the second, a regular infantry
parapet with artillery in position; and the third a parapet with an abattis in
front and entrenched batteries behind. Sometimes they put this three days' work
into the first twenty-four hours. Our men can, and do, do the same; but
remember, our object is offense — to advance. You would be amazed to see how
this country is intersected with field-works, extending for miles and miles in
different directions and marking the different strategic lines taken up by the
two armies, as they warily move about each other.
The newspapers would be comic in their comments, were not
the whole thing so tragic. More absurd statements could not be. Lee is not retreating:
he is a brave and skilful soldier and he will fight while he has a division or
a day's rations left. These Rebels are not half-starved and ready to give up —
a more sinewy, tawny, formidable-looking set of men could not be. In education
they are certainly inferior to our native-born people; but they are usually
very quick-witted within their own sphere of comprehension; and they know
enough to handle weapons with terrible effect. Their great characteristic is
their stoical manliness; they never beg, or whimper, or complain; but look you
straight in the face, with as little animosity as if they had never heard a
gun.
Now I will continue the history a little. But first I will
remark that I had taken part in two great battles, and heard the bullets
whistle both days, and yet I had scarcely seen a Rebel save killed,
wounded, or prisoners! I remember how even line officers, who were at the battle
of Chancellorsville, said: “Why, we never saw any Rebels where we were; only
smoke and bushes, and lots of our men tumbling about”; and now I appreciate
this most fully. The great art is to conceal men; for the moment they
show, bang, bang, go a dozen cannon, the artillerists only too pleased
to get a fair mark. Your typical “great white plain,” with long lines advancing
and manoeuvring, led on by generals in cocked hats and by bands of music, exist
not for us. Here it is, as I said: “Left face — prime — forward!” — and then wrang,
wr-r-rang, for three or four hours, or for all day, and the poor, bleeding
wounded streaming to the rear. That is a great battle in America.
Well! to our next day — Saturday, May 7th. At daylight it
would be hard to say what opinion was most held in regard to the enemy, whether
they would attack, or stand still; whether they were on our flanks, or trying
to get in our rear, or simply in our front. However, it was not long before
they were reported as fallen back — a good deal back from the left and right
and somewhat from our centre on the pike. Reconnaissances were at once thrown
out; and the General sent me to the front, on the pike, to learn how matters
stood; where I found, on the most undoubted evidence, that we were throwing
solid shot and shell at the rebels, and they were throwing solid shot and
shells at us. . . .
There was heavy skirmishing, with some artillery, all that
morning, until we determined that the enemy had swung back both wings; and
shortened and straightened his line. There lay both armies, each behind its
breastworks, panting and exhausted, and scowling at each other. At five this
morning a novel sight was presented to the Potomac Army. A division of black
troops, under General Ferrero, and belonging to the 9th Corps, marched up and
massed in a hollow near by. As I looked at them, my soul was troubled and I
would gladly have seen them marched back to Washington. Can we not fight our
own battles, without calling on these humble hewers of wood and drawers of
water, to be bayonetted by the unsparing Southerners? We do not dare trust them
in the line of battle. Ah, you may make speeches at home, but here, where it is
life or death, we dare not risk it. They have been put to guard the trains and
have repulsed one or two little cavalry attacks in a creditable manner; but God
help them if the grey-backed infantry attack them! . . .
As General Grant sat under a pine tree, stoically smoking
his briarwood pipe, I heard him say: “To-night Lee will be retreating south.”1
Ah! General, Robert Lee is not Pemberton; he will retreat south, but only far
enough to get across your path, and then he will retreat no more, if he can
help it. In fact, orders were out for the whole army to move at dark on
Spotsylvania Court House. But Lee knew it all: he could see the waggons moving,
and had scouts besides. As night fell, his troops left their works and were
crowding down the Parker's Store road, towards Spotsylvania — each moment worth
untold gold to them! Grant had no longer a Pemberton! “His best friend,” as he
calls him. And we marched also. . . .
We [Headquarters] did not start till nearly nine o'clock. . . . It was a sultry night — no rain for many
days; the horses' hoofs raised intolerable clouds of dust, which, in this sandy
region, is fine almost like flour. I never saw — nobody could well see — a more
striking spectacle than that road as we passed slowly along. All the way was a
continuous low breastwork behind which lay crowded the sleeping infantry. They
were so close as almost to be on top of each other; every man with his loaded
musket in his hand, or lying at his side. A few yards outside stood a line of
sentries, their muskets cocked, and others sat on top of the breastwork. Few of
the officers allowed themselves any rest, but paced up and down, in their great
coats and slouched hats, looking sharply after the sentries. That looked like
war, I do assure you. By the roadside was Gibbon, and a tower of strength he
is, cool as a steel knife, always, and unmoved by anything and everything.
There we lay down, literally in the dust, after a drink of iced water (for all
the farms have ice-houses in this region, which our men are not slow to hunt
out), and then we waited for General Meade, who had waited behind to speak with
Hancock. By and by he came, with more clouds of dust, and then on again, past
more sleeping men, and batteries in position, losing the road, finding it
again, tearing our clothes among trees and bushes, then coming to cavalry
pickets and finally to Todd's Tavern, where General Gregg had his Headquarters,
with his division of cavalry camped about there. . . . There was a porch in
front with a dirt floor, and there I lay down, with my head on a timber, and
got some sleep. On Sunday morning, May 8th, — it was not much like a Sabbath, —
we were all staring sleepily about us, forlorn with dust and dirt. The road was
full of the infantry, passing at a rapid rate; in light order they were, many
without knapsacks, or coats: most had thrown away all baggage but a blanket and
haversack. Then came batteries, then more infantry, all of the 5th Corps; the
Second had not yet begun to pass. An old
nigger made us some coffee and hoe-cake — very acceptable. . . .
_______________
1 The day before, “Grant told Meade that Joe
Johnston would have retreated after two such days' punishment. He recognized
the difference of the Western Rebel fighting.” — Lyman's Journal, May 6.
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 99-104
