Headquarters Second Brigade,
Second Division, Second Army Corps, Army Of Miss.,
On Board Steamer "Sunny South," Jan. 7,1863.
My Dear Mother:
We are on the broad bosom of the Father of Waters, the
shimmering moonlight streaming bright on the glittering waves that dazzle in
reflection. I am surrounded by gay officers, the jest and the laugh and the
song go round, but I get a little apart and look out into the night, and alone,
with no commune for my thoughts save sweet memories of my mother. Two natures,
two distinct beings seem blended in mine. Blood, carnage, and exposure to the
elements, the dull and dripping rain at night, sapping the creeping marrow in
my bones, the swamp, the forest, the noontide heat, prolonged endurance of
fatigue, and wakeful watching, intimate converse with gladiatorial soldiers,
the harsh reproof and bitter curse (alas, too familiar to my own lips,) the
forcing of fierce and maddened spirits to my own will, at times as fierce and
maddened as theirs, the groan, the imprecation, oftener than the prayer of the
dying; the contorted limbs and fixed stare of the dead, who have gone to their
death at my bidding — all this, and more, more than I dare to think or to
write, makes me feel as he must have felt who fell from heaven. When plunged in
the abyss of reflection, I look for my pure, bright angel, with white and
fleecy wings, hovering above me, her outstretched arms, her beckoning hand, her
mild and lovely eyes entreating, the mother of my early days. I change, even in
thought with her. I become a child again, like the little child I used to see
in some of the editions of the '”Common Prayer,” with the leopard, and the
lion, and the lamb, that I used to ponder over instead of listening to the
service long years ago, when I sat in the quaint old church. The Bible pictures
all come back to me, the clouds that I used to watch through the open windows,
when the Sunday was pleasant, shaping themselves into queer and fanciful forms,
when I used to wonder if God really sat among them, as upon His throne, and if
the little cherubims and seraphims, all head and wings as they were lined above
the pulpit, were really all about him crying aloud, and if he ever spanked them
for so doing, and from these child dreams I passed to others; soft and pleasant
fancies flit through my mind; music and the bright fireside, whispering voices,
pure, sweet, holy love, the greeting and the parting, the hopes and fears. My
spirit changes; I lean over the top-rail and gaze into the deep and flowing
river, to wonder if the scene about me is real, if I may not go to you within
the hour and lay my head upon your breast and cry myself to sleep, with your
dear hands clasped in mine. You are curious to know where I am and what I have
been doing, and I can only give you commonplace descriptions of fleets and the
great broad river, martial music, startling the wild fowl from the well-nigh
deserted shores, the debarkation of the army, the bivouac, the attack at night,
the fiercer conflict that raged for two days, the storming of the “imminent and
deadly breach,” the heroism, the slaughter of the soldiers, the withdrawal to
the transports — all this you will hear about in any penny paper, told with all
the variations far better than my pen can portray, and your heart will sicken
that such things can be. You will hear that my own band acquitted themselves
nobly, that nineteen of them bit the dust. Stancher followers no man ever had.
They say I did my devoirs. I don't know. The blood gets into my head in the
hour of battle and I rage, though men say I am cool. The Generals have given me
the command of a brigade. . . . If I
live, I shall hope to gather laurels; you shall not be ashamed of your son. I
have a splendid command, five fine regiments of infantry, two full batteries of
artillery (one of which is the famous Taylor battery of Chicago, and the best
of the service), and a squadron of horse, nearly five thousand men, and the very
flower of the army. The treason of these Southerners is almost atoned for by
their dauntless courage; but if the political generals don't succeed in taking
my command from me, they shall meet a “foeman worthy of their steel” the next
time we are in battle array. Remember I am writing to my mother, and if an
indirect trail of egotism or vanity is suffered to creep into my plain letters,
forgive me.
De Quincey, in his confessions of opium eating, says,
speaking of his reveries, “Often I used to see after painting upon the blank
darkness, a sort of rehearsal whilst waking, a crowd of ladies, and perhaps a
festival and dances. And I heard it said, or I said it myself, these are
English ladies, from the unhappy times of Charles I. These are the wives and daughters
of those who met in peace, and sat at the same tables, and were allied by
marriage or by blood; and yet, after a certain day in August, 1642, never
smiled upon each other again, nor met but in the field of battle; and at
Marston Moor, Newberry, or at Naseby cut asunder all ties of blood by the cruel
sabre, and washed away in blood the memory of ancient friendships.” One of my lady friends in Memphis gave me a
copy, and in casually turning its leaves to-day, the quotations seemed
strangely apt to the unhappy condition of our own bleeding land.
I have said if the political generals do not take my command
away, — a batch of them have come down with McClernand, who, you will perceive
by one of the accompanying copies, has divided the command with General
Sherman; two or three of them are educated military men, and have great
reputation as soldiers; an effort was made to place one of them over my
command; it may yet be successful, though they tell me my popularity with officers
and men is very great, especially since the last battle; that some of them
declare they won't fight under another leader, especially under an importation.
The advent of McClernand is deprecated. What the result may be I do not know.
General Sherman is pretty firm about the matter, now, and I do not think will
go behind his order. The Administration is treating me badly, but “Time at last
sets all things even, and if we do but watch the hour,” etc. Meanwhile, in my
little authority, you must imagine me as I really am, surrounded by very
considerable state. My staff consists of an adjutant, two aide-de-camps, four
clerks, six mounted orderlies, and as many of a detachment of cavalry as I may
choose to detail for personal escort; this, with my body servants, makes up a
very considerable menage, and as I retain my own old regiment as a body guard,
I move with very considerable personal force. My colors float very proudly. You
know I was always given to the taking on of airs, and thereby exciting envy,
malice, hatred, and all uncharitableness, which with evil speaking, lying, and
slandering, are always rife in the army. Therefore, there will be many attempts
at assassination (figuratively speaking, I mean), and these political pets will
be after me. Whatever I've got has been literally dug and hewed out with the
point and edge of the sabre, and the devil of it now is that I have to fight
front and rear. I had a bitter enemy in . . . who is now hors de combat, having been
badly shot in the late engagement. I think he’ll die; he won't sit on horseback
for a year anyhow. I had disposed of him pretty effectually before he went
under.
I know of none other now of any consequence, but the higher
one gets up the more he makes of them. It's damned hard they won't back me at
Washington.
I received a day or two since a very beautiful letter from
Mrs. Sherman, in which she spoke of “having had the pleasure of seeing my very
elegant and charming wife and mother.”
I enclose General Stuart's official report, which you may
show to as many friends as you please, though it should not be published. Also
the order assigning me to command. It is not difficult for some people to get
the rank of brigadier, but the same find it devilish hard to get the command to
follow the rank, and are proud enough of two meagre regiments. Mine is a young
army; I am immensely proud of it.
I won't write myself to ask for promotion. I don't want it
unless it comes regularly and through my commanding general, but inasmuch as I
have been clothed with the command, and that against the claims of rank;
inasmuch as I must assume immense responsibility, expense, and exposure without
commensurate reward, therefore, I think, I am right to urge through my friends
for what is only my due.
SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of
Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 254-7
