SCENE TWO, TOOK ONE

[MajGenl.Meade]

SCENE TWO, TOOK ONE


To Mrs. George G. Meade

HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, December 3, 1863.
I enclose you a curious correspondence just received to file among the historical papers of the war. Poor Mr. Holstein has committed a very bold act, and I fear it will not be long before he will have to repent. I have written him a letter of thanks and sent him my photograph, my hair being too gray to display in Bridgeport and my coats requiring all the buttons they have on them. Is not this a funny world?

You may wonder from what source I obtained the likeness of myself, knowing as you do my settled antipathy to any form of self-publication? You may recall my habit of late to go afoot incognito amongst the men in the evenings. Accompanied only by Lyman and a half-dozen other members of my staff, I am thus permitted free and unrecognized access to the common soldiers. On occasion, which would amuse you to hear, I adopt a kind of Scottish brogue, asking questions of the soldiers to discover their morale. Last night I approached a huddled group of men staring fixedly at something flickering in the firelight, held by one of them. They were breathing hard as if from long exercise, perhaps a healthful dash around the perimeter. “Och noo. What is this?” I asked, in genial fellow-warrior tones.

The group practically collapsed around me in various stages of terror until they recognized that myself and my seven companions were of their own kind. One of them, which turned out to be private Kowell, had been holding some pieces of paper, evidently the object of their fascination, which he had immediately thrust into his pocket. “Hello Jock” he said to me, with a broad wink, and thus you will note the splendid effectiveness of my persona! I asked him to share his amusement with me, whereupon he cast a peculiar glance at his companions and produced the small sheaf of papers, although it did appear to be from a differing pocket. Firelight is notoriously deceptive which I am sure is a great aid to my mummery.

He showed me the papers which were a mixture of a few photographs and several rather poorly executed sketches of myself. Holding these firmly in his left hand, he used the fingers of his right hand to riffle through the pictures, to amazing effect. For all the world there was the similitude of movement as this “General Meade” doffed his hat, bowed, and then replaced the hat upon his head.

“Splendid fun,” I said “but surely at first you had a different set of papers which from a distance looked like pictures of a lady, och noo?” Kowell said he was showing his friends a similar moving picture of his mother back in Ireland, a subject in which I had no interest. He gave me one photograph of myself as a token of friendship to a comrade, saying “Here is a picture of the best commander the Army of the Potomac currently has.” Really he may deserve some elevation from the ranks, and I shall consider what may be his reward.

You will be intrigued to learn that Lyman, no mean sketcher himself, speculates that one day there will come a public lantern show, a kinegraph he called it, depicting important events such as the battle at Gettysburg. I fear that if such should come to pass in our lifetimes, then a devotee of Sickles will influence the manufacture, so that I shall nowhere be found within it.