June 4th, 1864.—Uncle Richard has just returned from Tallahassee. This morning the telegraph wires were working for the first time in four days. It brings us dreadful news, on the 2nd inst. a battle was fought at Cold Harbor, some of our Florida boys were wounded and two were killed. Colonel Henry D. Capers was desperately wounded and is now in the hospital. Seven of his battalion were killed; the names were not given.
June 2014
Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father
H.Q. Army of Potomac
Cold Harbor, Va., June 4, 1864
Since my last of a week ago I have heard nothing and received nothing from you. Your letters evidently go astray, but where to does not yet appear. Mine was written from near Hanover Town; since then Head Quarters have twice moved, and we now find ourselves the same distance from Richmond, but more to the left and near the scene of McClellan’s disaster at Gaines’s Mills. We are again edging along a system of earthworks to the left, the two armies moving by the flank in parallel lines of battle. This whole country round here presents a most extraordinary spectacle in the matter of entrenchments. You doubtless hear a great deal about rifle pits. These scar the whole country all along the road of these two armies. You see them confronting each other in long lines on every defensible position and you never seem to get through them. A rifle pit, in fact, is in the perfection to which they are now carried in these armies, nothing more nor less than most formidable fortifications, alive with infantry and bristling with artillery. The instant our infantry, for instance, get into position, they go to work with axes and spades and in a very short time there springs up in front of them a wooden barricade, made out of fence rails, felled trees or any material in reach of men who know what danger is and feel it near them; and in rear and front of this a trench is dug, the dirt from the rear being thrown over to the front, so as to bank it up and make it impenetrable to musketry and, except at the top, to artillery. This cover is anywhere from four to six feet high, is often very neatly made, and is regularly bastioned out, as it were, for artillery. As fast as a position is won, it is fortified in this way. For defence the same thing is done. The other day I rode down to the front and passed four lines of these entrenchments, all deserted and useless, before I came to the fifth, where the line of battle then was, which had just been taken from the enemy, and which they were already confronting by a new one. In this country, however, even these pits in the hands of an enemy are rarely seen. This is, as a country, the meanest of the mean — sandy and full of pine barrens, exhausted by man and not attractive by nature, it is sparsely peopled, broken, badly watered, heavily wooded with wretched timber, and wholly uninteresting. In it you can see no enemy, for he is covered by a continual forest. He may be in front in any force, or in almost any kind of works or position, but you cannot see him. There is and can be almost no open fighting here, the party acting on the defensive having always the enormous advantage of cover, which he is not likely to forego.
We crossed the Pamunkey a week ago today and the Army has since been living and fighting in this wretched region. The weather has been very hot and dry, and the dust has accordingly been intense. The men have suffered much in marching and the incessant fatigue and anxiety of the campaign, combined with the unhealthy food, must soon begin to tell on the health of the Army. Meanwhile the fighting has been incessant, the question simply being one of severity. Yesterday we made a general attack and suffered a severe repulse. Today little seems to be going on. The Army all this time seems to be improving in morale. I do not see at any rate so much straggling as I did at Spottsylvania. To be sure the stock of the country seems to suffer badly, and I see more dead pelts than I do live sheep, more feathers by the roads than fowls in the yards; but I no longer see the throngs of stragglers which then used to frighten me. The country however is terribly devastated. This Army is, I presume, no worse than others, but it certainly leaves no friends behind it. I fear that the inhabitants are stripped of everything except that which can neither be stolen or destroyed. This is the work of the stragglers, the shirks and the cowards, the bullies and ruffians of the Army.
As I now move with Head Quarters all my marching is very different from any I ever did before. Grant and Meade usually ride together, and as they ride too fast for me, I send a party to keep along with them and then come up at my leisure. So they push ahead surrounded by a swarm of orderlies and in a cloud of dust, pushing through columns and trains, and I follow as fast as I can. In this way I am forced to see all there is to see of this Army, laboring by long trains of wagons and artillery and interminable columns of infantry, now winding along through the woods by the roadside and now taking to the fields; waiting half an hour for a sufficient break in a column to enable one to cross the road, and at all times wondering over the perfect flood of humanity which flows by me by the hour in the form of a great Army. It is very wearing and tiresome, this always moving in a procession. One gets hot and peevish. Human patience cannot endure such wear and tear. One is greatly impressed at these times with the “pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war.” There is abundance of material to be seen, men and muskets, horses and artillery; but for “pride and pomp,” that is lacking enough! The men look dirty and tired; they toil along in loose, swaying columns and are chiefly remarkable for a most wonderful collection of old felt hats in every stage of dilapidation. Their clothes are torn, dusty and shabby; few carry knapsacks and most confine their luggage to a shelter-tent and blanket which is tied in a coil over one shoulder. There is in the sight of such a column marching much that is picturesque and striking; but such features do not at first appear and never in the shape in which one imagines them.
Grant and Meade usually start about seven o’clock and get into camp at about two. They stop at houses on the road and wait for reports or to consult. I pass much of my time noticing Grant during these halts. For the last few days he has evidently been thinking very hard. I never noticed this before. Formerly he always had a disengaged expression in his face; lately he has had an intent, abstracted look, and as he and Meade sit round on our march I see Grant stroking his beard, puffing at his cigar and whittling at small sticks, but with so abstracted an air that I see well that they are with him merely aids to reflection. In fact as he gets down near Richmond and approaches the solution of his problem, he has need to keep up a devil of a thinking. Yesterday he attacked the enemy and was decidedly repulsed. He always is repulsed when he attacks their works, and so are they when they attack his. The course of the campaign seems to me to have settled pretty decisively that neither of these two armies can, in the field, the one acting defensively and the other offensively, gain any great advantage. Fighting being equal, it becomes therefore a question of generalship. To capture Richmond Grant must do with Lee what he did with Pemberton, he must out-general him and force him to fight him on his own ground. This all of us uninformed think he could accomplish by crossing the James and taking Richmond in the rear, and accordingly we are most eager that that should be done. Grant seems to hesitate to do this and to desire to approach by this side. His reasons of course we do not know, but they yesterday cost this army six thousand men. Feeling that we cannot beat the rebels by hard, point-blank pounding before Richmond, we are most anxious to find ourselves in some position in which they must come out and pound us or give way. The south bank of the James seems to hold out to us hopes of supplies, rest and success, and we are anxiously watching for movements pointing in that direction. While Butler holds Bermuda Hundreds I shall hope that he goes so to keep there a foothold for us, and shall continue to hope for another flank move to the left every day. When it comes I shall look for the crisis of the campaign.
Meanwhile I see nothing to shake my faith in Grant’s ultimate capture of Richmond, and even this delay and yesterday’s false step seem rather like some of the man’s proceedings in the Southwest, when he went on the apparent principle of trying everything, but leaving nothing untried. At present there is one thing to be said of this campaign and its probable future. In it the rebellion will feel the entire strength of the Government exerted to the utmost. If Grant takes Richmond, even without a battle, I think Lee’s army will be essentially destroyed; for they will lose their prestige. The defense of Richmond keeps them alive. They will never again fight as they now do, when once that is lost. Thus to me the campaign seems now to be narrowed down to a question of the capture of Richmond and that to a question of generalship. As to endurance and fighting qualities, the two armies are about equal, all things being considered, and the enemy’s lack of numbers is compensated for by the fact of their acting on the defensive. . . .
Colonel Lyon’s Letters.
Stevenson, Ala, Fri., June 3,1864.—We leave here tomorrow at sunrise. We had a hard rain last night, which relieves us from marching in the dust. The 22d, and other Wisconsin regiments in this department, get hurt occasionally, I see, though none except the 3d have been cut up very badly yet. There seems to be plenty of work and little glory for the poor 13th.
I had the whole regiment on dress parade last night, and it made a superb show. I felt just as though I should like to try their mettle where the bullets fly.
The new troops that have taken our place are many of them getting sick. We are toughened to the heat.
June 3d. In camp near Harrisonburg. Sat up very late last night watching the Signal Corps using rockets and roman candles. A wonderful sight. Reported General Hunter is trying to get in communication with General Crook who is in the mountains making for Staunton, the same point that we are headed for. Hospital in town, containing a few wounded Union soldiers. Held as prisoners, were re-captured. Among them was Charlie Avery, a member of our company, wounded through the chest. He surprised us by coming into our camp asking for his brother Jim, also a member of our company. Up to this time we did not know whether he was alive. Could not remain with us, was obliged to return to the hospital. The weather hot, muggy, with heavy rain storms. Our shelter tents are poor protection in these hard storms, as the rain pours down. We try to keep as dry and as comfortable as we can. The boys keep in good spirits and do not growl very much.
3rd. Reinforcements coming in rapidly via W. H. and also Fredericksburg. 13th O. C. arrived. Saw paper of the 31st. News very encouraging. Reported move of rebel infantry around and to rear of Burnside’s right. Guess old Grant has fixed it so as to give them a warm reception. Rained yesterday and last night. Our troops in good spirits. 2nd Brigade in our advance. Fought over the ground near Salem Church where our Cavalry Corps had a severe fight with rebel infantry the day they crossed the Pamunkey. Col. Prescott, 1st Vermont, killed and Lt. Col. 1st Conn. wounded in the thigh. Rebs retreated beyond our fortifications. 1st Brigade Battery fired a little. Moved up to the outer works and remained till night. 2nd Brigade formed over to the left nearly at right angles to Burnside’s line. Three Divisions of rebel infantry, Heths of Ewell’s Corps, Rhodes of Hill’s, and one of Longstreet’s charged the flank of Burnside. Rebs were repulsed with great slaughter. 2nd Brigade did splendidly. The cross fire of artillery and musketry just mowed down the rebels. 1st Brigade moved back and formed where we formed in the morning. Slept till morning. Letter from home, May 15.
Friday, June 3d.
At half-past 4 A. M., after a rainy night, our artillery on the left opened fire, and the cannonading gradually extended to the right, and at about 6 o’clock became simply terrific all along the line. A charge upon the enemy’s work’s followed, made by troops of two or three of the corps at least, and it was reported that two rebel lines were carried and eighteen guns and many prisoners taken, but that being flanked by artillery our troops could not hold their position and were compelled to retire, abandoning the guns and leaving many wounded on the field. The prisoners taken and brought off were a tough looking lot, but they were better clothed, better shod and had more rations in their haversacks than any we have heretofore captured during the campaign. Our regiment was not actually in the charge, but in the afternoon we were moved up to the breast-works, which, along a part of the line, were simply a broad ridge of earth with a ditch on each side, the Union troops being on one side and the Confederates on the other, and the soldiers on neither side dared show their heads above the ridge. Immediately in the rear of the intrenchments, the earth was full of little excavations two or three feet deep, over which shelter tents were pitched so that the occupants could sleep, when opportunity offered, without danger of being hit by the bullets which often traversed the surface of the ground both day and night. These residences were called “gopher holes,” and, as might be supposed, were very popular with the soldiers no matter what their rank might be. After cutting abattis for the breast-works until dark, I was, during the night, ordered to take a detail from my company, and, with other details from our regiment, go and assist in building a redoubt for artillery on General Barlow’s front close up to the rebel lines. My instructions were most vague and unsatisfactory, and as I knew nothing about the lay of the land, I reported at once to General Barlow’s headquarters, which consisted of a wall tent with a sentry and a Division flag in front of it. I found the General curled up in the corner of his tent examining a map with a candle, but on learning that I wanted a guide he sent a staff officer with me to point out the way. I do not think this officer knew any more about the location of the lines than I did, for he lead us around in an aimless way, and at length brought us up behind a battery of artillery posted in the second line, where I halted the company to inquire of the officer in command of the battery whether he knew what was required of me. It was pitch dark, and suddenly one of those unaccountable fusillades occurred, so frequently started by somebody firing a gun on one side or the other in the night time, and the artillery on both sides promptly joined in the melee. The enemy seemed to have the range of this particular battery perfectly, and made our position so hot that I took the company away from the rear of it by the right flank at “double quick,” fortunately not losing a man except my guide, whom I never saw again. The commander of the battery had indicated to me where he thought I ought to go, which was across a ravine almost immediately in his front, and after the firing had ceased I reached the ground and with the other details built the redoubt. We had to cut the necessary logs in the ravine and carry them up the side hill, and the almost incessant musketry fire, and the sharpshooter’s fire as it grew lighter, seriously impeded the work. Occasionally there would be paroxysms of artillery firing, when we would have to suspend altogether and seek the best shelter we could find, and on one of these occasions Capt. Gould and I met in a washout or gully near by, made by some previous rainstorm in the light sandy soil, which was hardly large enough for two, and we had a good-natured argument as to which ranked the other in the right to possession. After the work was sufficiently advanced to afford some protection from the rebel fire, we were subjected to danger from our own people, for the battery in our second line of which I have spoken, opened fire two or three times on the rebel line beyond us, and sent its shot and shell screeching uncomfortably close to our heads, some of the latter exploding rather short and sending fragments and encased iron balls into our redoubt. And yet it was a beautiful sight to see the lines of fire in the darkness caused by the burning fuses of the shells when coming towards us, followed by brilliant explosions, the whole exhibition resembling very closely that made by sky-rockets at a Fourth of July celebration. During the night Gen’l Barlow visited our little fort, crawling in over the exposed ground on his hands and knees, and upon his asking how we had got in there, we answered “just as you did.”
Friday, 3d—It rained nearly all day and changed the dust into mud, which made the marching very heavy. We left camp at 8 o’clock and leaving the valley, traveled over a spur of Lookout mountain nine miles across. We marched eighteen miles today and bivouacked on the Chattanooga river. We passed a house of mourning today where lay the body of the head of the family, he having been killed just a few days before in a battle with Sherman’s men. I never saw a sadder sight. The wife and daughters dressed in deep, rich mourning were most pitifully bewailing their loss. But some of our boys remarked that the people of the South had brought on this war themselves.
June 3, 1864.
Relieved the 6th Iowa at 6:30 this a.m. The Rebels shoot pretty close. Killed Orderly Sergeant of Company I, (VanSycle), and wounded three men in our regiment to-day. This makes 50 in killed, wounded and prisoners, or one in every six.
Huntsville, Friday, June 3. Cloudy, rained most of the day. Three regiments of the 2nd Brigade came in and went into camp on their old grounds. The railroad is now guarded from Stevenson to Flint River by new troops, dismounted cavalry.
June 3. — We were held in reserve, and had to march and countermarch all day long. We were finally moved out to support Willcox, who was to make a charge. While we were lying here, a shell came along and grazed my coat sleeve. I had just changed my position, thereby saving my life, for the shell otherwise would have hit me in the back. We were finally moved to form a junction between Willcox and Potter. We did so, and after building rifle-pits retired to our old position, leaving the 39th to guard the pits. I was in command of the brigade part of the day as the general was sick.[1]
[Since this diary was written, I have found out that we formed the extreme right of the army, this right being refused so as to protect our rear. This brought us back to back with our troops right in front of us, our line being curved around like a fish-hook, and we forming the barb, as it were. It also turned us back to the enemy. There was a battery somewhere on our flank that was annoying us, and the rumor was that Willcox was to charge it and we were to support him. Anyway, the men were all lying down, and I was sitting with a cape of my coat thrown over my shoulder, leaning against the roots of an rooted pine tree. Shells and bullets would keep dropping every once in a while, but nothing hot or heavy. I finally got tired and threw my legs from one side of the trunk to the other. It was not more than five seconds after I had done this that a shell fired at our troops on the front of our line, along the long part of the fish-hook, as it were, came over them, and plunged through the roots of the pine tree, just grazing my shoulder and covering me all over with dirt. It dropped right at my feet. Had I not changed my position, I should have been taken square in the back and crushed to pieces. It made me very nervous about shells. Until then I had not minded them much. Sometimes they seem to burst in the air all around you and never do much harm, although occasionally one would be destructive. My men all jumped up, thinking I was killed ; but my usual luck attended me and I came out all right.]
[1] The fighting in these early days of June is known as the Battle of Cold Harbor.
