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The Daily Dispatch: August 10, 1864., [Electronic resource], article 1 (search)
be given up, thus leaving the entrance to Mobile bay open. We have before stated that the passage of these forts did not place Mobile in imminent peril, and we may now add that neither does the fall of these works do so. The Yankees have not commenced on their work — the obstructions have not been reached, and, in fact, the "siege of Mobile" lies some weeks yet in the future. There were a number of street rumors yesterday, the general tenor of which was that Generals McCausland and Bradley Johnson had been surprised at Moorefield; Hardy county, and had lost some four-hundred men and several guns. We could not trace this to any reliable source, and think it probable that it is a repetition, in another form, of the Yankee boasts that they had whipped our cavalry at Cumberland. There was nothing new from Petersburg yesterday. The shelling had been pretty much discontinued. It is still reported that Grant is removing troops from his present position, and a citizen who came ove
The Daily Dispatch: August 10, 1864., [Electronic resource], Scenes at a flag of truce. (search)
our guns. Next him stood a tall, lean, endeavors man, who resembled an ostentatious tombstone, set up by some afflicted wife six weeks before her second marriage in memory of her departed first. He wore his whiskers a lamilitaire, cut close, as was his hair. His eyes were of that peculiar color which it is impossible to describe. But I once saw a valuable dog which was being practiced on by an optician for a disease called the "hooks." His eyes closely resembled those of this General Potter. They were truly the meanest, most sneaking eyes I have ever seen; and a mouth which resembled an opening to a sepulchre, were the only features worthy of note. How prond it made me feel to turn my head towards our own work, on the frank, open countenances of our own Hill, Johnson, Mahone, and Saunders, so plainly dressed that it would have been impossible to have recognized them but for their bearing. But enough; I've written more than you care to read, much less publish. Yours, Key.