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It is not too much to say that yesterday was a day without striking events, as it was characterized by a more or less steady rain, from the rising to the going down of the sun. I wrote you a letter, I entertained the chronic Duane, and I entertained — oh, I forgot to tell you about him. I entertained the officer from Roumania, the one whom General Meade could not make out because he had no map of Europe.
This Roumania, as I have ascertained by diligent study, is what we call Wallachia and Moldavia, and is a patch of territory lying north of the Danube, and running from its mouth, on the Black Sea, to the northwest, into the Carpathian mountains.
As to the Roumanians themselves, they have the misfortune to be tremendously protected by everybody.
Imprimis, they pay to the Porte an honorary tribute of 600,000 crowns, in return for which his word is pledged to protect them against all comers, which is a good joke, seeing he can't protect himself against any comer at all!
, before many weeks, or even days, I shall be at home, to campaign no more!
April 17, 1865
How wicked we are in this world!--Now, when I should be only overflowing with joy and thankfulness at these great results, I keep finding myself boiling and fuming over the personal neglect of General Meade and the totally undeserved prominence given to Sheridan.
Yet Meade is really of no more consequence in this vast question of all time, than a sailor, who pulls a good oar, compared with the Atlantic Ocean.
The truth will stand out in sober history, even for him — in the future Motleys and Prescotts.
The plain truth about Meade is, first, that he is an abrupt, harsh man, even to his own officers, when in active campaign; and secondly, that he, as a rule, will not even speak to any person connected with the press.
They do not dare to address him. With other generals, how different: at Grant's Headquarters there is a fellow named Cadwalader, a Herald man, and you see the Lieutenant-Genera