Charles Francis Adams, Jr., to his father
H.Q. Army of Potomac
Before Petersburg, Va., June 19, 1864
My last was from Cold Harbor and since then we have passed the long desired James and, at last, near Richmond from the southern side. That city is in the position Washington would be in, had a rebel Army, having the control of the Chesapeake, pushed its way to Baltimore and established itself on the waters of the bay, while this Army, unbeaten in the field but wholly unable to make any impression offensively upon the enemy, was manœuvring in the vicinity of Washington. Their cavalry also should have complete control of the field outside of the lines of our Army. In such a case I myself would expect soon to hear that Washington was abandoned or captured, that this Army had fallen back to secure its base and cover the North and the new line of our unconquered army was on the Susquehannah. Will this be the case with Richmond? I am not prepared to say and cannot feel sure. I have unbounded confidence in Grant, but he puzzles me as much as he appears to the rebels. He fights when we expect him to march, waits when we look for motion, and moves when we expect him to fight. Grant will take Richmond, if only he is left alone; of that I feel more and more sure. His tenacity and his strength, combined with his skill, must, on every general principle, prove too much for them in the end. Yet I often feel discouraged and never feel as if I saw my own way.
My last was from Cold Harbor and ten days ago. A week ago last Sunday we moved out of our dusty, dirty, foul smelling camp and off in a south easterly direction. It was clear we were making for the James. Grant and Meade went only about seven miles, halting for the night at the spot where we found General Warren’s Head Quarters. I don’t know that Generals in Chief ever experience campaign discomforts, but on this night I certainly did in their train experience, not the discomfort of the line — of that, they and theirs know nothing — but very moderate discomfort for all that. We encamped in an orchard, and a very dirty and dusty one and there, as our train did n’t come up, we passed a supperless night under a brilliant moon.
The next day at six o’clock we started and moved down to the banks of the Chickahominy where again we halted while the trains and the 2d and 5th Corps crossed the pontoons. Grant, Meade and Hancock were there and for several hours we killed time industriously. At last my name was called and I was ordered to report to General Hancock and was by him ordered to move forward, in advance of his Corps, on the road to Charles City Court House. For the rest of the march, which brought us to the James, the squadron accordingly kept in advance of the 2d. Corps. Immediately in our rear Grant kept bulging along and then came Barlow’s Division of the al Corps. As there was no enemy in our front and additions to our Cavalry advance speedily relieved me from command, I left the squadron with Flint and, seeing Barlow’s flag at a house near the road, went over and joined him for the rest of the march. In company with that rising General of Division I lunched and rode, and presently we made for another house, and seeking out an attractive cherry tree, ascended it and chatting over old times and old friends, eat our fill of that delicious fruit, while we watched in the distance the tired and dusty column toiling along.
Presently we resumed our march and gradually Barlow, an old Peninsular man, began to recognize houses and fields as familiar to him in McClellan’s campaign, and then a sharp gallop through a deep field of clover, which swept our stirrup leathers, and we halted before an old Virginia plantation house behind which flowed the James. Rivers always burst on one at once, be they great or little, and so did the James now. The old Peninsular men knew what to expect, but I, certainly, had no expectation of seeing so noble a river. Some two miles broad at the point where we struck it, and with green swelling banks, it flowed quietly and majestically along, giving to me at least, one heated, dusty and anxious soldier, a sense of freshness, repose and eternity, such a feeling as I should have expected from the sea, but hardly from the James. There it flowed! We had fought the Indian, the Englishman and the Virginian upon its banks; only two years before it had been the resting place and the highway of this very Army; long before we fought on its banks or troubled its waters it flowed on as it did today; and long after we have fought and toiled our way out of this coil and our battles and sufferings have become a part of history, it will flow on as broad, as quiet and as majestic as when the vanguard of the Army of the Potomac hailed it with almost as much pleasure as Xenophon’s Greeks hailed the sight of the sea.
We dismounted and cooled ourselves on the porch of the house overlooking the river, while the signal officers had already put themselves in communication with Fort Powhatan, plainly in sight some few miles below. Presently Barlow went off to find a camp and I rode off to the squadron. I was not at all too early. They were just moving up the road, having been ordered to report to Colonel Jones of the 3d Pennsylvania for some unknown duty. Jones, I regret to say, is the unfortunate old woman who got us into our scrape at Parker’s Store last autumn, and I have little confidence in him. The duty turned out to be picket, so, very cross, the squadron being reduced to some thirty men, I sent Flint in to form a camp and to take charge of the rest, while I went out in command. Presently the duty was developed — picket, as I supposed. I got my instructions and, just as the sun was getting very low, passed through McClellan’s old defences and found myself within the position of Harrison’s Landing. My instructions were to cover a certain road and to send a party down it towards Richmond, as far as I could before dark. Wilson’s Division of Cavalry was supposed to be somewhere on that side and, if I could find out where he was, we were to be relieved. I gave Baldwin my instructions. (He is my 2d Lieutenant, formerly a bugler and recently promoted. He is about twenty years old and has a fondness for enterprises in face of the enemy.) I told him to take what men he wanted and go up the Malvern Hill road and not come back until he reached Malvern Hill, unless he first struck the enemy or Wilson’s Cavalry. He took ten men and just as the sun was setting the clatter of his horses’ hoofs died away in a cloud of dust on the Richmond road. I stationed some posts and wrung something to eat out of inhabitants. Then, resorting again to my almost forgotten picket precautions, waited for the return of my scouts. I allowed them two hours, for I heard it was six miles to Malvern Hill; but when four were gone and they had not returned my confidence in Baldwin’s courage, coolness and shrewdness — more than all in his luck —began to stand me in good stead; for without it I should have been anxious. At eleven I did begin to feel troubled and rode down to the videttes. Just as I approached them I met him coming in and much disgusted. He had been ten miles and close to Malvern Hill, got fired into three times and could n’t persuade himself that he had fallen in with the rebels. He thought they were Wilson’s men. It did n’t require much to persuade me, and I believed more than ever in luck when I heard his story. He had staved ahead ten miles driving in the enemy’s scouts and finally rode right into their picket line. When they fired on him he got it into his head they were Wilson’s men and were firing by mistake, and so he persisted in hanging round and approaching them three times, but the third time they woke up and the bullets came so very close and fast that he unwillingly ‘concluded he had better go home. He and his men being tired, I sent them into camp and for myself passed a quiet night on picket. The next morning I rode all over McClellan’s old camp of Harrison’s Landing. The war has left deep scars around here and nature has not yet effaced them. The fields were heavy with clover, but full of the graves of Northern soldiers and the debris of the old camps; the houses around were ruined and the inhabitants gone; the fences were down and a spirit, of solitary desolation reigned over all the region. On the James the steamers were running rapidly up and down the river and they afforded almost the only signs of life.
At noon I was relieved and towards evening got into camp. The next day we moved early and down the James, but did not cross, Head Quarters remaining on this side of the river and I going into a shady little camp some distance off, where we had a very pleasant time, getting many good things to eat and drink, catching horses, entertaining guests, bathing generally and, in fact, having a sort of picnic. The next day, the 16th, we crossed the James and found ourselves at last on the much desired south side. Meade and Grant were gone ahead. We pressed on towards Petersburg and found the march long, but dirty and disagreeable. The woods were on fire and the air full of dust and smoke, while the straggling of Burnside’s Corps was the worst I ever saw. Towards evening the spires of Petersburg rose before us and we looked at them over the tremendous earthworks which Smith had captured the night before. Here too I first saw colored troops and they were in high spirits; for the evening before in the assault they had greatly distinguished themselves and the most skeptical on that score were forced to admit that on that occasion the darkies had fought and fought fiercely. When we got into camp, as a brisk action was going on in front, Flint and I rode out to see what was going on. The captured works are superb, both in construction and position. That they should have been properly manned is out of the question, for even decently defended the whole of Grant’s army could not have captured them. All admit, however, that the darkies fought ferociously, and, as usual, the cruelty of Fort Pillow is reacting on the rebels, for now they dread the darkies more than the white troops; for they know that if they will fight the rebels cannot expect quarter. Of course, our black troops are not subject to any of the rules of civilized warfare. If they murder prisoners, as I hear they did, it is to be lamented and stopped, but they can hardly be blamed.
Since that night we have been lying here before Petersburg, just where we then were. We have assaulted the enemy’s works repeatedly and lost many lives, but I cannot understand it. Why have these lives been sacrificed? Why is the Army kept continually fighting until its heart has sickened within it? I cannot tell. Doubtless Grant has his reasons and we must have faith; but, certainly, I have never seen the Army so haggard and worn, so worked out and fought out, so dispirited and hopeless, as now when the fall of Richmond is most likely. Grant has pushed his Army to the extreme limit of human endurance. It cannot and it will not bear much more, and yet for days past it has been rammed, not in masses and with a will and as if to win, but in squads and detachments and as if to provoke attack and defeat. In this Grant doubtless has his plan, but the Army cannot see it and it now cries aloud not to be uselessly slaughtered. I hope that tactics will change soon, for we cannot long stand this.
Thursday. An interruption, followed yesterday by a move of the Head Quarters, has caused a break in my letter. Grant apparently thought that as he could n’t capture Petersburg he would just cut off the communications of both places at once by putting himself south of Petersburg — just as good as south of Richmond to him, and a good deal worse to the enemy. Unfortunately, as a man generally wakes up to a sense of danger when he feels a deadly enemy fingering his throat, Lee was this time on hand and before we got far on our road we met Mr. A. P. Hill and others prepared to object to our further progress. So here we are again, as it would appear, come to a deadlock. Whatever ultimate results may be present experiences are sufficiently unpleasant. The heat and dust are intense and the streams and springs are fast drying up. We cannot even get decent water for our horses. As for me and mine, we campaign in great comfort and with little danger; but the sufferings and loss in the line are something which I cannot think of without trembling. Our consolation must be the essentially Christian one, that the enemy is probably even worse off. Meanwhile it requires some effort to keep up one’s hopes and courage. On every general principle I cannot doubt of the ultimate success of a man who takes hold of his work with the skill and persistency of Grant, when backed by such resources; but the enemy confound me by the doggedness of their defence. Hitherto they have not, to my mind, evinced extraordinary skill or enterprise. They are now in a position in which only the most extraordinary military ability can save them and we shall soon see if they will develop that. . . .
