The Western Republican

The day has been one of bustle, of smoke, of pride, and of mortification—such a day as this unhappy war is too generous in bestowing.

Both armies spent the early hours in the ordinary duties of camp and drill. Our lines extended along the pleasant banks of the Thornapple, where the men encamped among the trees with all the comfort that soldiers may hope for in the field. The enemy lay further off, in his own camp—confident in bearing, though we judged him not so strong as he believed.

Soon after reveille an affair occurred which put every loyal heart in a flame. The regimental colors of the gallant 102d United States Colored Troops were discovered missing. How they were taken is not yet certainly known; some say by stealth in the night, others by boldness in the grey of morning. A party was dispatched with all speed to recover that honored emblem, but they fell into the hands of a body of Rebel skirmishers, and several of our men were captured. We trust the flag of that noble regiment will yet wave again over loyal shoulders.

About midday a scandalous occurrence within our own camp called forth both anger and, in the end, just reproof. A private of one of our companies was arrested for stealing a quantity of cookies—so the report runs—from some unknown source, and then refusing to share a single morsel with his mess or company. After confession freely made, an apology in the presence of his comrades, and a solemn promise that hereafter his hand shall be more open, the offender was pardoned. Thereupon he was marched around the camp under escort, while his comrades looked on and gave him the jeers such offense against good fellowship richly merits. Let all take warning.

During the forenoon and early afternoon the adjoining fields were filled with citizens from the country round about, who came to witness the movements of the armies. Men, women, and children stood along rail fences, upon hillsides, and even in the trees, to see the pageant of war—an amusement God forgive us for.

Toward the middle of the afternoon the enemy advanced in strong order upon our front. Though evidently our inferior in numbers, they pressed us with a steadiness and spirit that won their moment. For a time our line gave ground, and the fight raged hotly across the fields and into the village itself, where the musketry cracked among the houses and the smoke hung thick in the streets.

But our men rallied nobly. Cheered by their officers, they pushed the Rebels back—step by step, fence by fence—and had gained the greater part of the village when fate interposed in the person of one of our brave cavalry. While galloping along the main street he was unseated by the start of his horse, and fell with such violence as to render him insensible. Surgeons of both armies hastened to his aid, and by mutual consent the firing ceased until he could be removed to a place of safety.

Thus, when victory seemed within our grasp, humanity stayed the contest, and both lines rest under arms.

Night now closes quietly over both camps. Our wounded are receiving every care our limited means allow. The enemy, it is said, have suffered more than we, though of their losses we have no certain account.

It is the general belief that tomorrow’s sun will scarce clear the trees before the guns again proclaim their disagreements. We trust our commanders will profit by the lessons of to-day.

—J. P. Whitcomb, Special Correspondent