23rd.—A week ago to-day was the battle at Lee’s Mill, and though there has been daily fighting ever since, and calls to arms almost every night, sometimes two or three times a night, there has been no battle worthy of the name. The artillery have been firing at long range, with occasional infantry firing. Two Federal officers, Col. Cassiday and Major Crocker, deserted to the enemy to-day. Charles F., of Company K, had his leg shattered by a musket ball—the first man of our Regiment seriously hurt by the enemy, although we have now been in the field nearly eight months. Whilst I was dressing his wound a little circumstance occurred illustrative of the tender sympathies which some military officers feel for their men. Gen. H was passing and looked in. ” How are you, my man?” asked the General. “Oh, General, I am suffering terribly; but just set me up before the damned rebels, and I’ll fight whilst I breathe.” “I am sorry to see you wounded my man. We need your services in these times.” That’s it; not a word of sympathy for his “suffering terribly;” not a word of approbation for his bravery; no thanks for his having done his duty like a man. All sorrow for loss of service. He has fought his fight, and henceforth is a useless appendage to the army. “Poor old horse, let him die!”
The newspapers, containing accounts of last Wednesday’s fight are now being received by us. They state our loss at thirty-two killed, and speak of our artillery as “mowing down the enemy by acres.” Now, this is all stuff. We might as well tell the truth. Our cause does not need the bolstering aid of falsehood. I have myself seen over fifty of the killed. And, then, I was by the side of our batteries during the hottest of the fight, within five hundred yards of the enemy’s fort, not a twig intervening, and at no time could there be seen an average of fifteen men to “the acre.” What ever others there might have been there were so concealed in rifle pits and behind parapets as to be entirely secured against the “mowing down” process of our artillery. This system of falsifying and exaggerating is a positive injury to our cause. The soldiers are losing confidence in reports, and even in official statements. Even the newsboys are being infected, though I heard one this morning, wittily burlesquing the reporters by crying “Morning Republica-a-n. Great battle in Missouri. Federals victorious. Their troops retreating in good order! Wonder if it will not awaken the reporters to a sense of their ridiculous statements.
If we have another battle here, it will be a desperate one. No stronger position could have been selected by the enemy, and they are well fortified. Jeff. Davis is here, and in the field. Magruder is here, and they are being rapidly reinforced. I do not like this way of marching up to an enemy, and then sitting down quietly and waiting for him to get ready before we attack him. ‘Tis not the Napoleonic style. But there may be good reasons for it which I do not comprehend. I am not a military man, and shall be careful how I condemn the plans of my superiors; but I do not like that style of fighting. Would it not be singular if Yorktown should decide the fate of this revolution, as it did that of “our revolution?”
