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Robert Stiles, Four years under Marse Robert, Chapter 7: the Peninsula Campaign. (search)
at post, with rank of major. We seemed to be in no sort of hurry to get at McClellan; that is, we took our time on the road, feeling sure, from past experience, that he would take his. Our army and people invariably regarded that general as an officer and a gentleman and a fine soldier, too, except that he was a little slow and prone to see double as to the number of his foes. The Richmond Examiner, by far the most vigorous journal published in the South during the war, epitomized little Mac in the following graphic sentence, Accustomed in peace to the indecent haste of railroad travel, McClellan adopted in war the sedate tactics of the mud turtle. He certainly did seem to have a penchant for mud, Peninsula mud, Chickahominy mud, James River mud-any sort of mud; but he was too much of a gentleman to sling any of it, even at us rebels. The only point of the march down at which we were made to hurry was the only one at which we would have demurred to doing so if it would have d
Robert Stiles, Four years under Marse Robert, Chapter 8: Seven Pines and the Seven Days battles (search)
Chapter 8: Seven Pines and the Seven Days battles Joseph E. Johnston the change of commanders Lee's plan of the Seven Days battles Rainsford the pursuit playing at lost Ball little Mac's lost the Thrigger Early dawn on a battle-field Lee and Jackson. I turn back a moment to the mud and the march up the Peninsula in order to relate a reminiscence illustrative of several matters of interest, aside from the mud, such as the state of the currency, the semi-quizzical characch inspiration, did Pat ever fail to be communicative and. witty? He seemed to grasp the situation perfectly, and upon someone asking if the apparent flight might not after all be a trap-Be dad, said he, an‘ ef it's a thrap, thin shure an‘ little Mac's lost the thrigger! At or near Savage Station, I think on this 29th of June, our brigade commander, General Griffith, was killed. In a shower of projectiles turned loose upon us by an unseen foe, at least half a shell from a three-inch rifled