June 13, 1864
Last night, at dark, the whole army was in motion for
"Charles City" on the James River (there is no "city"
there, but I believe a house and a barn). . . . This morning we were on our way
by 5.30 and, making a cut across the woods, we soon came on Barlow's division
of the 2d Corps going rapidly toward the river, close to which we found
Hancock, sitting on the grass and waiting for his Corps. At this point the
Chickahominy is nothing of a stream, but, as it is bordered by considerable
flats, it suddenly widens, during heavy floods, to perhaps half a mile, the
water being just deep enough to stop waggons. This was a great trouble
McClellan had: we have met with no such obstacle. This river is characteristic;
a good drawing of this very scene at Long's Bridge might pass as the
incarnation of malaria and swamp fever. Fancy a wide ditch, partly choked with
rotten logs, and full of brown, tepid, sickly-looking water, whose slow current
would scarcely carry a straw along. From the banks of dark mould rises a black
and luxuriant vegetation: cypresses of immense size, willow oaks, and swamp
magnolias, remind you that you are within the limits of a sub-tropical climate,
and so does the unhealthy and peculiar smell of decaying leaves and stagnant
water. A great contrast to this landscape, so suggestive of silence and
loneliness, was the rumbling and clatter of Barlow's batteries, as they passed
over the resounding pontoon bridge. We clattered over too, as soon as the last
of the regiments had passed (which was about 10.30), designing to follow in
rear of this division. . . . We kept on,
on the flank of the column, admiring its excellent marching, a result partly
due to the good spirits of the men, partly to the terror in which stragglers
stand of Barlow. His provost guard is a study. They follow the column, with
their bayonets fixed, and drive up the loiterers, with small ceremony. Of
course their tempers do not improve with heat and hard marching. There was one
thin, hard-featured fellow who was a perfect scourge. “Blank you! — you—“ (here
insert any profane and extremely abusive expression, varied to suit the
peculiar case) “get up, will you? By blank, I'll kill you if you don't go on,
double-quick!” And he looked so much like carrying out his threat that the
hitherto utterly prostrate party would skip like the young lamb. Occasionally
you would see a fellow awaiting the charge with an air of calm superiority,
and, when the guard approached, pull out the aegis of a “surgeon's pass.” The
column marched so fast that I was sent forward to tell General Barlow to go
more gently. I found that eccentric officer divested of his coat and seated in
a cherry tree. “By Jove!” said a voice from the branches, “I knew I should not
be here long before Meade's Staff would be up. How do you do, Theodore, won't
you come up and take a few cherries?” However, I could not stay, and so kept on
till we came, somewhat suddenly, on well-cultivated fields with good crops of
wheat, oats, and clover. I was speculating on the reason of this when somebody
said we were within a mile of James River! and just after, General Meade
ordered me to ride down and see what sort of a position there was and how the
land lay.
It was about four o'clock in the afternoon that I caught the
first sight of the water, as I cantered round the corner of a little grove. To
appreciate such a sight you must pass five weeks in an almost unbroken
wilderness, with no sights but weary, dusty troops, endless waggon-trains,
convoys of poor wounded men, and hot, uncomfortable camps. Here was a noble
river, a mile wide, with high green banks, studded with large plantation
houses. In the distance, opposite, was Fort Powhatan, below which lay two
steamers; and, what seemed strangest of all, not a Rebel soldier to be seen
anywhere! . . . There was a signal-man
waving away with his flag to attract the attention of the steamers, to notify
all concerned that the head of the Army of the Potomac had struck the James. We
went to a field by the Tyler house for our camp — the birthplace of John Tyler,
he of the big nose and small political principles — once Vice President, with
Tippy-canoe and Tyler too. Nobody was there, save a lot of nigs, that were too
funny; for there suddenly appeared among them one of our black servants, who
had left that very place in McClellan's time. Such a “Lord a-a massy! is dat a-ar
you? Wha-ar d'ge come from?” as never was heard, and great rejoicings over the
distinguished traveller! What was more to the purpose, I got some green peas, a
great coup; likewise milk, though “them a-ar infants” (meaning infantry)
got the most of it. . . . A pontoon
bridge, 2000 feet long, was made in ten hours, and over this passed a train of
waggons and artillery thirty-five miles long; more than half the infantry in
the army and 3500 beef cattle; besides 4000 cavalry; all of which was chiefly
accomplished within the space of forty-eight hours!1 In civil life,
if a bridge of this length were to be built over a river with a swift current
and having a maximum depth of eighty-five feet, they would allow two or three
months for the making of plans and collecting of materials. Then not less than
a year to build it. This was a busy night on the river, messages going to City
Point and Fort Monroe, and ferryboats and gunboats coming up as fast as
possible to the neighborhood of Charles City. . . .
_______________
1 As before stated, these letters were written
after the events described.
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 156
