There was quite a battle yesterday on the south side. The accounts in the morning’s paper fall short of the whole of our success. The enemy, it is said to-day, did not regain the works from which they were driven, but are now cooped up at Bermuda Hundred. Nothing is feared from Butler.
Nothing from Lee, but troops are constantly going to him.
I saw some 10,000 rusty rifles, brought down yesterday from Lee’s battle-field. Many bore marks of balls, deeply indenting or perforating the barrels. The ordnance officer says in his report that he has collected many thousands more than were dropped by our killed and wounded. This does not look like a Federal victory!
May 22d.—Clear and warm, but the atmosphere is charged with the smoke and dust of contending armies. The sun shines but dimly.
Custis was with us last night, and returned to camp at 5 a.m. to-day. He gets from government only a small loaf of corn bread and a herring a day. We send him something, however, every other morning. His appetite is voracious, and he has not taken cold. He loathes the camp life, and some of the associates he meets in his mess, but is sustained by the vicissitudes and excitements of the hour, and the conviction that the crisis must be over soon.
Last night there was furious shelling down the river, supposed to be a night attack by Butler, which, no doubt, Beauregard anticipated. Result not heard.
The enemy’s cavalry were at Milford yesterday, but did no mischief, as our stores had been moved back to Chesterfield depot, and a raid on Hanover C. H. was repulsed. Lee was also attacked yesterday evening, and repulsed the enemy. It is said Ewell is now engaged in a flank movement, and the great final battle may be looked for immediately.
Breckinridge is at Hanover Junction, with other troops. So the war rolls on toward this capital, and yet Lee’s headquarters remain in Spottsylvania. A few days more must tell the story. If he cuts Grant’s communications, I should not be surprised if that desperate general attempted a bold dash on toward Richmond. I don’t think he could take the city—and he would be between two fires.
I saw some of the enemy’s wounded this morning, brought down in the cars, dreadfully mutilated. Some had lost a leg and arm—besides sustaining other injuries. But they were cheerful, and uttered not a groan in the removal to the hospital.
Flour is selling as high as $400 per barrel, and meal at $125 per bushel. The roads have been cut in so many places, and so frequently, that no provisions have come in, except for the army. But the hoarding speculators have abundance hidden.