Peebles House, Va., November 8th, 1864.
It is the evening after election. The turmoil and excitement of the day is past, and, almost prostrated by the intense anxiety of the past week, I long to flee to the sympathetic heart of my wife for comfort and consolation. Never before has a political contest assumed such vast proportions. In it I see a Nation sitting in judgment on its own acts. The question to be decided involves its very existence. Individuals are lost sight of. Life and death hang quivering in the balance. Feeling this, I entered into the contest with all the energies of my nature. “Sleep departed from my eyes and slumber from my eyelids.” My sphere was circumscribed, but it was no light task to rescue my own loved regiment from a record of infamy. Thank God, it is accomplished. Of one hundred ninety-four votes polled today, only forty-six were cast for McClellan and Secession. One week ago they claimed a majority. At that time, in Company G, eleven out of eighteen loudly proclaimed fidelity to the “Hero of Malvern Hill.” Today, in this same company, three votes were polled for him. I think I can say with truth, and without egotism, the result is largely due to my efforts. I devoted my time mainly to the recruits throughout the regiment, visiting them in their tents, seldom leaving one until I had obtained a promise that he would not vote for “Little Mac.” Faithfully they kept their word in nearly every instance.
The day was fine. At sunrise the regiment assent bled, chose inspectors, clerks, etc., and proceeded to business. I never knew an election to pass off so quietly. No drunken brawls, for whiskey could not be obtained. General Wilcox and staff came over and deposited their votes. It had been confidently asserted that Wilcox would vote for McClellan, but he called for an “Administration ticket” and deposited it in the ballot box. No partiality was shown to rank; several officers were challenged and had to swear in their votes. The day, with its overwhelming weight of responsibility, is passed beyond recall and I calmly await the announcement of the result. As the polls were about to close, a telegram was received announcing the capture of the pirate Florida. I accept it as an omen of good.
