previous next

Chapter 17: between Gettysburg and the Wilderness

  • Lee orders his generals of division to report the condition of their troops
  • -- McLaws makes the rounds of his division -- back in the old Dominion -- Tuck and Marse Robert, Dragon and Logan -- Meade an able and wary opponent -- the homes of the people within the lines of the Army -- a preacher -- Captain Metes out stern and Speedy justice -- Lee smarting under the Tete-de-pont disaster -- Pegram Meets two of his old troopers -- Mine Run -- Mickey free and the persimmons -- horses under artillery fire -- two important movements of the Federal forces.

I confess I have not read current war literature very closely, but certainly I have never seen, in any publication, any allusion to what is related below; indeed I cannot recall any mention of it even in conversation with comrades-and yet my recollection of what transpired is clear and vivid.

Much has been said, and justly, of the unshaken condition of the Army of Northern Virginia when it retired from the Federal front at Gettysburg; and yet it is equally true that army had been through a most trying experience, and as it was still in hostile territory and a swollen and at the time impassable river flowed between it and the friendly soil of Old Virginia, Lee had great cause for anxiety, and it behooved him to be thoroughly informed and certified as to the real condition and spirit of his troops. With this view he directed his generals, particularly his generals of division, to make prompt and thorough investigation in this regard, and to report results to him. McLaws, our division general, made a special tour around the camp fires of his men one evening, while we were in line of battle at Hagerstown, Md., waiting for Meade to attack, or for the Potomac to [223] fall, so that we might in safety cross it, and I was at special pains to follow, and to see and hear what I could.

McLaws was rather a peculiar personality-He certainly could not be called an intellectual man, nor was he a brilliant and aggressive soldier; but he was regarded as one of the most dogged defensive fighters in the army. His entire make-up, physical, mental and moral, was solid, even stolid. In figure he was short, stout, square-shouldered, deep-chested, strong-limbed; in complexion, dark and swarthy, with coal-black eyes and black, thick, close-curling hair and beard. Of his type, he was a handsome man, but the type was that of the Roman centurion; say that centurion who stood at his post in Herculaneum until the lava ran over him. It should be mentioned in his honor that when General Lee, with scant 14,000 muskets, held the front of Hooker's 92,000 at Chancellorsville, McLaws commanded one of the two divisions he had with him.

He was a Georgian, and his division, consisting of two Georgia brigades, one from South Carolina and one from Mississippi, was as stalwart and reliable as any in the service. Nothing of course could repress our Mississippians, but the general effect and influence of the man upon his command was clearly manifest in the general tenor of the responses he elicited. His men were respectful, but not enthusiastic on this occasion. For the most part they kept right on with what they happened to be doing when the General arrived-cooking, cleaning their arms and accoutrements, or whatever else it might be. He was on horseback, riding, as I remember, a small, white pony-built horse, and as he rode up into the circle of flickering light of camp fire after camp fire to talk with the men, he made quite a marked and notable figure. The conversation ran somewhat in this line:

Well, boys, how are you?

“We are all right, General!”

“They say there are lots of those fellows over the way there.”

“Well, they can stay there; we ain't offerin‘ to disturb ‘em. We've had all the fighting we want just now; but if [224] they ain't satisfied and want any more, all they've got to do is to come over and get their bellies full.”

“Suppose they do come, sure enough, boys. What are you going to do with them?”

“Why, just make the ground blue with 'em, that's all; just manure this here man's land with 'em. We ain't asking anything of them, but if they want anything of us, why, just let 'em come after it, and they can get all they want; but they'll wish they hadn't come.”

“Well, now, I can rely upon that, can I? ”

“You just bet your life you can, General. If we're asleep when they come, you just have us waked up, and we'll receive 'em in good style.”

“Well, good-night, boys. I'm satisfied.”

McLaws' “boys” had no occasion upon that field to vindicate their own account of themselves. The enemy did not attack, the river did fall, and we returned to our own side of the Potomac, but not until the 13th of July. The day we got there, or perhaps the day following, “Tuck,” the redoubtable wagon driver of the old battery, had a memorable experience which he never tired of telling.

Tuck was a unique character. Up to the date of his enlistment his horizon had been perhaps more contracted and his opportunities fewer and lower than those of any other man among us. Naturally he gravitated to the wagon; but the man made the position. He was so quiet and steady and perfect in the discharge of its humble duties, that I question whether there was another private soldier in the battery as useful, or one more universally liked and respected, and he was as loyal and devoted to the company and his comrades as they were to him. He had a fine pair of mules, and his affection for them amounted almost to a passion. Indeed, his entire outfit-mules, harness and wagon — was always in better condition than any other I ever saw in the army, and if there was forage or food, for man or beast, to be had anywhere, Tuck was sure to get at least our share for us.

As above said, it was the very day we reached the soil of old Virginia, or the day after, that Tuck, or Tucker,--I believe [225] the latter was really his name,--was dragging along with his wagon, through the mud and mist, considerably in rear of the battery, grieving that his two faithful mules had gone supperless to bed the last night and taken breakfastless to the road that morning, when, glancing to the left, his eye lit upon a luxuriant field of grass he was just passing, and there, right abreast of his wagon, was an enticing set of draw-bars.

On the instant he turned out to the side of the road, unhitched his mules, and taking them by their long, strong halter reins — the best I ever saw upon the harness of an army team-let down the bars and led them into the field, and was enjoying their breakfast as much perhaps as the mules were, when a fine-looking officer, with a rubber cape over his shoulders, rode up to the fence and said in a kindly, pleasant voice:

My man, I like that. I am glad to see you taking such good care of your mules, and they like it, too. What a fine breakfast they are making! They are fine mules, too!

“What, my mules? You bet they are fine! Marse Robert ain't got no better mules in his army than these two.”

“What are their names?”

“This here gray one, he's named Dragon, and that ‘ere black one, his name's Logan. Dragon, he's a leetle the best of the two, but either one of 'em's good enough.”

“Yes indeed, I can well believe that, and I am glad to see you taking such good care of this man's property, too; keeping your mules in hand with the lines. I wish all the drivers in the army were as careful of their teams and of other people's property as you are. Now this is all right, but I wouldn't stay here too long. There are some gentlemen in blue, back here on the road a little way; and-”

“What's that! the damn Yankees coming? Come, Dragon, come, Logan, we must git out oa this!”

“0, I wouldn't be in quite such a hurry. There is no danger yet awhile. Let them finish their breakfast. I only meant-”

“No, sir; I ain't taking no chances. The infernal Yankees sha'n't never git my mules! Come on here, Dragon and [226] Logan,” --leading them toward the bars,--“we must git out o‘ this, and mighty quick, too!”

As he got his pets out in the road and was hitching them up again, Colonel Taylor and Colonel Marshall and the rest of General Lee's staff rode up and reported to Tuck's friend and took orders from him, and Tuck waked up to the fact that he had been talking with Marse Robert himself for the last five minutes.

“Great Scott!” said he, in relating his adventure, “I felt that I had been more impudent than the devil himself, and I wanted to get out oa sight as fast as ever I could; but I didn't feel like letting no common man speak to me for two or three days after that.”

There is a delicious sequel to this story, which seems too good to be true, and yet I have every reason to believe it is as true as it is good.

When the final collapse came, Tuck, Dragon and Logan were down in North Carolina, where they had been many a time before, foraging for themselves and the rest of ushorses and men. The returning train of heavily-loaded wagons, inadequately protected, was attacked by Federal raiders. The shooting, plundering, and burning was going on front and rear and rapidly approaching from both directions. So Tuck halted his wagon, got out all the provisions he could carry for himself and them, unhitched Dragon and Logan, and took to the woods, and he kept going until he got so far away that the braying of his companions could not be heard from the road. Then he made himself comfortable by the side of a little stream and awaited developments.

The next day it rained and he kept close, but the day following was bright and clear, and he took an early morning scout to “the big road.” There was the blackened debris of burnt wagons, but there had not been a track upon the road since the rain, and Tuck concluded that the coast was clear. So he went back to his bivouac, mounted Dragon and, leading Logan, returned to the road and took the direction of Richmond. [227]

At last he emerged from the dank, sombre pine forest into a clearing, where was a comfortable farm house, and not far from the woods he ran upon an old fellow seated on the top rail of an old Virginia snake fence, with his spinal column comfortably supported by one of the cross stakes, a short-stemmed, blackened corncob pipe in his mouth, his neglected, stubby beard bristling all over his face, and his entire figure and bearing expressive of ill-temper and despair.

“Good morning,” said Tuck.

“Mornin‘,” responded the old chap.

“Seen anything of the Yankees?”

“Yes, the infernal thieves cleaned me out day before yestiddy.”

“What's that plow doin‘ standing in that ‘ere furrow?”

“Why, the damn Yankees stole the mules right out of it. Didn't leave me a hide or hoof on the place.”

“I've got a good pair of mules here,” said Tuck.

“Well, go there to the gate, come right in and hitch up, and we'll go snacks on the crap.”

The bargain was closed as promptly as proposed. Tuck plowed until the dinner horn blew. Then he and Dragon and Logan went to the sound of it, as if they had been “bred and born” on the place. Tuck watered and fed his mules at the stable and himself at the house, touching his hat to the old man's pretty daughter as he entered.

In due course of time he married her, and he owns that farm to-day.

Thus the house of Tucker rode into home and fortune upon “my mules,” which its illustrious founder swore “the infernal Yankees sha'n't never git!”

Some little time since, in a conversation with Mr. George Cary Eggleston, he remarked that, years ago, perhaps during the war, I mentioned to him an estimate of General Meade which I had heard General Lee express, about the time of Meade's appointment to succeed Hooker in command of the Army of the Potomac. I do not now quite see how I could have overheard the remark precisely at the time indicated, but I have no doubt the story, as far as Lee's estimate of Meade is concerned, is essentially true. As the [228] story goes, someone was congratulating Lee upon having “a mediocre man like Meade” as his opponent, suggesting that he would have an easy time with him. But Lee interrupted the speaker, saying with emphasis that General Meade was the most dangerous man who had as yet been opposed to him; that he was not only a soldier of intelligence and ability, but that he was also a conscientious, careful, thorough and painstaking man; that he would make no such mistake in his (Lee's) front as some of his predecessors had made, and that if he made any mistake in Meade's front he would be certain to take advantage of it.

It is noteworthy how exactly this estimate was fulfilled and confirmed, not only at Gettysburg, but in the campaign of the succeeding autumn upon Virginia soil, in which Meade showed himself to be able and cautious, wary and lithe; incomparably superior to Pope or Burnside, or even Hooker. In October, at Bristoe Station, when we were attempting to outflank him, as we had done Pope, he not only escaped by giving such attention to his “lines of retreat” as the latter had boasted he would not give, but he actually inflicted upon us a decided defeat, accentuated by the almost unparalleled capture of five pieces of artillery; and that, when his force engaged was inferior to ours. In November, at the tete-de-pontt at Rappahannock Bridge, he wrote for us what Colonel Taylor calls “the saddest chapter in the history of this army,” by snapping up two brigades, of twelve or fifteen hundred men, and four pieces of artillery, which had been exposed, by an arrangement of his lines more nearly questionable perhaps than any other General Lee was ever known to make. In December, at Mine Run, while he failed in his main design of turning our flank and forcing us to abandon our fortified line on the Rapidan, and so pushing us back on Hanover Junction, and while he got decidedly the worst of the fighting, yet he succeeded in getting away without the overwhelming defeat we hoped to have inflicted upon him; and, upon the whole, no preceding Federal commander of the Army of the Potomac had made anything like as good a showing in an equal number of moves against their great Confederate opponent. [229]

Apropos of the time and the region in which the operations just commented upon occurred,--being the great battlefield of central Virginia, threshed over for three years by the iron flail of war,--Billy sends me what he very justly terms “the most pathetic and harrowing incident of my service in the Army of Northern Virginia.” I give it substantially in his own words:

One day while we were encamped in the Poison Fields of Spottsylvania County, Tom Armistead and I were summoned to Captain McCarthy's quarters. We found him talking to a woman very poorly but cleanly dressed, who seemed in bitter distress. The captain ordered us to go with the woman and bury her child. We went with her to her home, a small house with but two rooms. There we found her mother, an aged woman, and the child, a boy of ten, who had just died of a most virulent case of diphtheria. The father, a soldier in some Virginia regiment, was of course absent, and of neighbors there were none in that war-stricken country.

Armistead and I bathed and dressed the little body and then had to rip planks off part of the shed room of the house to make something to bury it in, tearing off the palings of the garden to get nails, having no saw and being compelled to cut and break the planks with an axe. Before we had finished the box the battery bugle sounded Harness and hitch up. We stayed long enough to finish the box and place the body in it, but could not stay to dig the grave-We had to leave these two poor women alone with the unburied child.

There was not a farm animal, not even a fowl, on the place. How these women and many others in the track of both those great armies lived was then, and always has been, a mystery to me. War truly is hell; how utterly devilish are those who, by cruelty and license, add to its horrors.

Another incident of this same period and locality occurs to me.

One of the Georgia batteries of our battalion-“Frazier's,” as it was called — was composed largely of Irishmen from Savannah-gallant fellows, but wild and reckless. The [230] captaincy becoming vacant, a Georgia Methodist preacher, Morgan Calloway, was sent to command them. He proved to be, all in all, such a man as one seldom sees — a combination of Praise God Barebone and Sir Philip Sidney, with a dash of Hedley Vicars about him. He had all the stern grit of the Puritan, with much of the chivalry of the Cavalier and the zeal of the Apostle.

No man ever gave himself such a “send-off” as Calloway did with his battery. He gripped their very souls at the first pass.

Not long after he took command the battalion spent a few days in these Poison Fields of Spottsylvania. The very evening we arrived, before we had gotten fixed for the night, a woman of the type of the one above described by Billy came to battalion headquarters and complained that one of the men in “that company over yonder” --pointing to where Calloway's guns were parked-had gone right into her pig pen, before her very eyes, and killed and carried off her pig.

The colonel directed me to look after the matter, and the woman and I walked over to the battery and laid the complaint before Calloway, who asked her whether she thought she could point out the man. She said she could, and he ordered his bugler to blow “an assembly.”

When the line was formed he gave the command, “To the rear, open order, march!” the rear rank stepping back two paces further to the rear, and he and I and the woman started to walk down the front rank; he, as was his wont when on duty, having his coat buttoned to the chin and his sabre belted about his waist.

When we had gotten a little more than half way down the line some lewd fellow of the baser sort, sotto voce, made some improper remark about the woman, and his comrades began to titter. With a single sweep of his right arm, Calloway drew his sabre and delivered his blow. The weapon flashed past my face and laid open the scalp of the chief offender, who dropped in his tracks, bleeding like a stricken bullock. There was a shuffle of feet moving to his aid. [231]

“Stand fast in ranks! Eyes front!” cried Calloway, the sabre dripping with blood still in his sword hand. Needless to say they did stand, as if carved out of stone, while in absolute silence Calloway, the woman, and I, completed our inspection of the front, and when about midway of the rear rank she, without hesitation, confidently identified the thief. His manner and bearing under the charge convicted him, and Calloway had him bucked and gagged and sequestered his pay to reimburse the woman. He then gave the order, “break ranks!” and sent the surgeon to attend the wounded man.

I never saw a company of men more impressed. Indeed, I was myself as much impressed as any of them, and was at considerable pains to catch the feelings and comments of the men.

“Whew!” said a big fellow, who had been a leader in all the lawlessness of the battery, “what sort of a preacher do you call this? Be-dad! and if he hits the Yankees half as hard as he hit Dan, it'll be all right. We'll have to watch him about that, boys. We'll get his gait before long.”

As several times remarked, I have not been able to determine exactly when and where I rejoined the old battalion as its adjutant; but since writing the preceding chapter I am satisfied it must have been shortly after the battle of Gettysburg, and either at or before we reached Hagerstown; as otherwise I should not have witnessed McLaws' evening visitation to the camp fires of his division.

It may be well here to say that our battalion was ordered to Hanover Junction in the autumn of 1863, about two months after our return from Gettysburg, with the view of going with Longstreet's corps to the West; but, either from lack of transportation or from some other cause, we did not go, but passed some weeks on or near the Central Railroad, gradually working our way up toward the main body of the army again, and were sent, after Mine Run, to guard the middle fords of the Rapidan.

I have quoted Colonel Taylor as saying that the disaster at Rappahannock Bridge was the saddest chapter in the history of the Army of Northern Virginia, and I am confident General [232] Lee felt it very keenly. Some weeks after we had begun our winter's watch on the Rapidan, General Ewell, who was in command of the forces picketing the stream from Clark's Mountain down, received a message from General Lee that he would come down next day, bringing two or three general officers with him, and wished General Ewell, with two or three of his artillery officers, to ride with them along the lines. General Ewell notified Colonel Cabell and myself to be at his headquarters next morning, where we met General Lee, General Early, and Gen. John Pegram, and rode with them along the hills skirting the stream, discussing chiefly positions for artillery, until we came to a hill, over against Raccoon or Somerville Ford, where we had an exceptionally fine view of the Federal camps across the river.

The party halted on the summit and General Lee was more stirred than I had ever before seen him. He either referred expressly to Rappahannock Bridge and the affair of the tete-de-pont, or the implied reference to it was perfectly clear. Sweeping the stretch of the enemy's camps with his gauntleted right hand he said:

What is there to prevent our cutting off and destroying the people in these nearer camps on this side of that hill, before those back yonder.on the other side could get to them to help them?

Early at once answered, as if the question had been propounded to him alone:

This infernal river: how are you going to cross that without giving warning?

“Ford it, sir; Ford it!”

“What are you going to do with your pneumonia patients?” whined Old Jube with a leer.

Thereupon Ewell and Pegram sided strongly with Early in deprecating such an undertaking that winter season, though the weather at the time was open and fine. General Lee said no more, and I have never thought he seriously entertained such a purpose; but he was evidently smarting tinder the slap in the face he had received, and he panted for some opportunity to return the blow. [233]

While we continued to look at the Federal camps two horsemen rode down to the other bank to water their horses. Pegram seemed much interested and said he believed he would gallop down and interview “those fellows.” As he started, General Lee said, in a deep voice, “You'd better be careful, sir!” Pegram was a superb horseman and splendidly mounted, and I never saw a finer equestrian figure than he presented as he dashed off down the hill, never making an uneven movement in the saddle. When he reached the flat, through which the river ran, the Federal horses raised their heads, and their riders shaded their eyes with their hands, gazing intently at the rapidly-approaching horseman and striving to make him out. As he dashed into the stream amid a cloud of spray, they advanced rapidly to meet him, and we felt a shade of uneasiness; but the next moment we saw that the meeting was not only friendly but enthusiastic, and after the first fervors of the greeting had subsided the three sat upon their horses in the middle of the stream and had a conference so long that we actually tired waiting. When Pegram returned he told us, with a glowing countenance, that the troopers had belonged to his company in the old army and that their hearts were in the same place toward him. He was a noble gentleman, and no one suggested such a thing as military information acquired or divulged under such circumstances.

I recall a trivial incident of Mine Run which may serve as an introduction to what may prove of interest. I had been sent with a message to Gen. William N. Pendleton, chief of artillery of the army, and told only that he was on the lines. So I had to ride from one end to the other while the artillery fire was heavy, and did not find the general after all. But just as I go to the end of the lines I did find, a little back of them, a fine tree full of ripe persimmons, the first I had seen that autumn, in perfect condition for eating. I dismounted, threw my bridle rein over the pommel of the saddle, climbed the tree and gave it a good shake. Meanwhile several shells whistled not far above my head and I distinctly recall laughing to myself at the difference two and a half years had wrought. Just after I was mustered [234] into service I should have considered that I had made a narrow escape from shells passing as near as these, and that it was little less than profane to have so much as thought of persimmons “under such solemn circumstances.”

But my horse, “Mickey free,” and I had come to a more practical state of mind. We were badly in need of lunchthe persimmons would furnish a very acceptable one, and it never occurred to either of us that the shells constituted any serious obstacle to our gathering and eating luncheon. I recall vividly how he raised his head and pricked up his ears, watching where the persimmons fell thickest and going there and gobbling them up with the greatest gusto. After I had shaken off all that were ready to drop, I proceeded to gather my portion, which I thought, under the circumstances, should be the lion's share; but Mickey evidently thought differently. I can see the dear old fellow now trotting ahead of me to the spots where the fruit lay thickest, and as I tried to dart in and pick up my share, backing his ears, wheeling his rear upon me and executing a sort of continuous kick with one hind leg, just to bully me a little and without any intention of really doing me harm. Many horses and most dogs are very fond of persimmons, and Mickey and I had the fullest and finest feed of them that morning at Mine Run that we ever enjoyed during our army comradeship.

I have always been fond of what we are pleased to term “the lower animals,” particularly of horses and dogs, and have already devoted several pages to the biographies of the only two dogs I was intimately acquainted with during the war. I ask permission now to say a few words about the horses, whose starvation and sufferings and wounds and death I really believe used to affect me even more than the like experience of my human fellow-beings; and this because, as Grover said, at Ball's Bluff, the men “‘listed ter git killed,” and the horses didn't.

Some of these sensitive creatures were mortally afraid of artillery fire. I have seen the poor brutes, when the shells were flying low and close above their backs, squat until their bellies almost touched the ground. They would be perfectly [235] satisfied during battle, or at least entirely quiet, if their drivers remained with them, especially on their backs; and when the men were compelled to absent themselves for a time and returned again to their teams, I have heard the horses welcome them with whinnies of satisfaction and content, and have seen them, under fire, rub their heads against their drivers with confiding and appealing affection.

And the poor animals loved not only their drivers but each other. I have heard and seen a horse, whose mate was killed at his side, utter an agonized and terrified neigh, meanwhile shuddering violently, and have known a horse so bereaved persistently refuse to eat, and pine away and die.

A few horses, the grand progeny of Job's horse, may “mock at fear ... and say among the trumpets, ha! ha!” But it should be remembered that Job's horse probably did not have artillery fire to face. However, I have known horses which seemed to be thrilled rather than terrified even by the thunder of the guns. Mickey was a horse of this class, and I used to say of him that, however he might be dragged out with fatigue, under fire he moved like a steam engine on steel springs, and that any coward could be a hero on his back. Even wounds had no power to daunt him. He was struck repeatedly and very dangerously, but it never dampened his martial ardor at all. He was withal a horse of great intelligence and sensibility, as stories I have yet to tell of him will show.

There were only two important movements of the Federal forces in Virginia which intervened between Mine Run and the opening of the great campaign of 1864, and neither of them requires extended comment from me. The first was the pushing of a corps across the Rapidan, at Morton's Ford, immediately in front of the Howitzers. I cannot recall the exact date-though I think it was early in February --or what corps it was; nor was the object or purpose of the movement at all clear. It may have been with the view of ascertaining whether General Lee had recently detached and sent off to other fields any considerable bodies of troops; or it may have been thought that the main body of his infantry was encamped so far back of the lines that the artillery on [236] the river and its small infantry support could be snapped up before adequate reinforcement could reach them. But if such an opportunity ever existed, the invaders did not act with vigor in availing themselves of it. The Howitzers maintained a determined front, the infantry arrived and poured into the works, and the Federals, after suffering some little loss, withdrew, leaving the object of the movement shrouded in mystery, and returned across the river.

I may be pardoned for relating in this connection an amusing flurry of my good friend, General Ewell, which forced me for a few moments into rather an awkward position. The General was somewhat excited over the length of time the troops took to enter the works after getting upon the ground, and particularly over the performance of a stiff old Georgia colonel, whose regiment was facing the works and who was actually side-stepping it to the right, to clear the right flank of another regiment that had just entered the works, and this while the enemy was advancing up the slope in our front, and there was not a man in the lines to our right.

The General was storming at the colonel, and I, sitting on my horse near-by, could not repress a titter. Suddenly “Old Dick” turned to me and exclaimed:

Mr. Stiles, for the Lord's sake, take that regiment and put it into the works!

Somewhat startled, I asked, “Do you really mean that, General?”

“Of course I do!”

Putting spurs to my horse, I trotted down the line of the regiment, calling out as I reached its right flank, “Right face, forward, run-march!” In a moment or so I had the men in the works, and returning, reached the General just as the old colonel got there and tendered his sword. General Ewell declined to receive the sword, ordered him back to his command, and turning to me said:--

“Do you still insist, sir, that you don't know tactics enough to justify your being promoted?”

The other movement was what is generally known as “the Dahlgren raid,” which started in three co-operating cavalry [237] columns, under Kilpatrick, Dahlgren and Custer, about the last of February, 1864, having Richmond for its objective, with the intention to sack and burn the city and kill the prominent Confederate officials. The history of the expedition is familiar. I did not come into personal contact with it in any way, and it cannot therefore be said to fall within the domain of reminiscence. If, however, the generally-accepted version of the famous “Dahlgren orders” be correct,--which would seem to be beyond question,--then it would be mild characterization to term them “infamous!”

It is a pleasure in this connection to note that General Lee's adjutant general has put on record the statement that “The disclaimer of General Meade was most candid and emphatic.”

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

An XML version of this text is available for download, with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system.

hide Dates (automatically extracted)
Sort dates alphabetically, as they appear on the page, by frequency
Click on a date to search for it in this document.
February, 1864 AD (1)
1864 AD (1)
1863 AD (1)
December (1)
November (1)
October (1)
July 13th (1)
February (1)
hide Display Preferences
Greek Display:
Arabic Display:
View by Default:
Browse Bar: