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Un Anglais Sudiste, ensuite Nordiste p'têt déserteur aussi..

 
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PostPosted: Wed 5 May - 16:29 (2010)    Post subject: Un Anglais Sudiste, ensuite Nordiste p'têt déserteur aussi.. Reply with quote

PublicitéSupprimer les publicités ?
Hé oui bcp de cartes dans ses mains, le Sir.

Henry Morton Stanley.
 

 

Sir HENRY MORTON STANLEY, Né John Rowlands le 28 janvier 1841 à Dinbych au Pays de Galles et mort le 10 mai 1904 à Londres.
 

Je passe sur son enfance malheureuse dans une maison de travail et j’attaque directement sur sa vie américaine :
 

A 15 ans, il semble qu’il quitte volontairement la maison de travail, (il y a été très bon élève et même reçu une bible dédicacée par l’Evêque local), il travailla comme journalier dans plusieurs places et finalement embarqua comme mousse à l’âge de 17 ans sur le Windermere, un bateau qui faisait voile vers la Nouvelle Orléans.
 

Une fois arrivé là, il chercha du travail et se présenta à un négociant en coton, qu’il impressionna avec sa bible reçue en prix. Il s’appelait : Henry Hope Stanley.
 

Il semble qu’il a logé chez les Stanley, qu’il fut adopté et Henry Stanley lui donna son patronyme, il change donc de nom pour devenir Henry Morton Stanley.
 

En 1861, il rejoint l’armée des Confédérés, afin de combattre dans la C.W.
 

En Avril 1862, il est fait prisonnier lors de la bataille de Shiloh et est conduit dans un camp de prisonniers de guerre près de Chicago.
 

Mais celui qui passait aux troupes de l’Union pouvait quitter le camp. ( c’est probablement la première définition du volontariat…). le typhus régnant, il (Stanley) décide alors de changer de camp. Il devint malade dans l’armée des Etats Nordistes et fut réformé.
 

Il travaille comme navigateur et devient journaliste, Il s’engage sur différents bateaux de la marine marchande, et en 1864 s’engage à nouveau dans la marine militaire de l’Union.
 

Etant donne sa belle écriture, il devint l’écrivain rapporteur sur le bateau « MINNESOTA ».
 

Juste avant la fin de la guerre, il déserta et se rendit à St.Louis, ou il obtint un contrat comme correspondant indépendant d’un journal local. Il écrivit des nouvelles de l’Ouest Sauvage, Il participa aux guerres indiennes à la suite du Général major Winfield Scott Hancock. Et il fut remarqué par James Gordon Bennettt Jr. L’éditeur du journal à sensations NEW YORK HERALD, ainsi en 1867, il devint donc correspondant de guerre.
 

La suite, c’est dans un autre continent.
 

(Pirlouis, I presume ?          Yes, that is my name.).


Et voilà, qu'est ce qu'on se fait plaisir sur ce forum,

Clin d'oeil à tout(es), Pirlouis
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PostPosted: Mon 10 May - 21:04 (2010)    Post subject: Un Anglais Sudiste, ensuite Nordiste p'têt déserteur aussi.. Reply with quote

Stanley a laissé un récit particulièrement vivant et détaillé de la bataille de Shiloh qu'il a vécue en tant que simple combattant. A mon avis, c'est même l'un des meilleurs récits qu'on puisse trouver pour comprendre comment une bataille est "vécue de l'intérieur" (très instructif, au passage, pour les reconstitueurs).  

La CHAB avait publié, il y a plus de 15 ans, ce témoignage en Français. Je dois bien l'avoir dans mes archives, mais il me faudra un peu de temps pour le retrouver. En attendant, voici le texte en Anglais tiré de The autobiography of Sir Henry Morton Stanley  (1911).




ON April 2, 1862, we received orders to prepare three days' cooked rations. Through some misunderstanding, we did not set out until the 4th; and, on the morning of that day, the 6th Arkansas Regiment of Hindman's brigade, Hardee's corps, marched from Corinth to take part in one of the bloodiest battles of the West. We left our knapsacks and tents behind us. After two days of marching, and two nights of bivouacking and living on cold rations, our spirits were not so buoyant at dawn of Sunday, the 6th April, as they ought to have been for the serious task before us.
Many wished, like myself, that we had not been required to undergo this discomfort before being precipitated into the midst of a great battle.
 

Military science, with all due respect to our generals, was not at that time what it is now. Our military leaders were well acquainted with the science of war, and, in the gross fashion prevailing, paid proper attention to the commissariat. Every soldier had his lawful allowance of raw provender dealt out to him ; but, as to its uses and effects, no one seemed to be concerned.
 

Future commanding generals will doubtless remedy this, and when they meditate staking their cause and reputation on a battle, they will, like the woodman about to do a good day's work at cutting timber, see that their instruments are in the best possible state for their purpose.
 

Generals Johnston and Beauregard proposed to hurl into the Tennessee River an army of nearly 50,000 rested and well fed troops, by means of 40,000 soldiers, who, for two days, had subsisted on sodden biscuit and raw bacon, who had been exposed for two nights to rain and dew, and had marched twenty-three miles !
 

Considering that at least a fourth of our force were lads under twenty, and that such a strenuous task was before them, it suggests itself to me that the omission to take the physical powers of those youths into their calculation had as much to do with the failure of the project as the obstinate courage of General Grant's troops. According to authority, the actual number of the forces about to be opposed to each other was 39,630 Confederates against 49,232 Federals.
 

Our generals expected the arrival of General Van Dorn, with 20,000 troops, who failed to make their appearance ; but, close at hand to Grant, was General Buell's force of 20,000, who, opportunely for Grant, arrived just at the close of the day's battle. At four o'clock in the morning, we rose from our damp bivouac, and, after a hasty refreshment, were formed into line. We stood in rank for half an hour or so, while the military dispositions were being completed along the three-mile front.
 

Our brigade formed the centre; Cleburne's and Gladden's brigades were on our respective flanks. Day broke with every promise of a fine day. Next to me, on my right, was a boy of seventeen, Henry Parker. I remember it because, while we stood-at-ease, he drew my attention to some violets at his feet, and said, 'It would be a good idea to put a few into my cap. Perhaps the Yanks won't shoot me if they see me wearing such flowers, for they are a sign of peace.”Capital,” said I, “I will do the same.” We plucked a bunch, and arranged the violets in our caps. The men in the ranks laughed at our proceedings, and had not the enemy been so near, their merry mood might have been communicated to the army.
 

We loaded our muskets, and arranged our cartridge pouches ready for use. Our weapons were the obsolete flintlocks, and the ammunition was rolled in cartridge-paper, which contained powder, a round ball, and three buckshot.
 

When we loaded we had to tear the paper with our teeth, empty a little powder into the pan, lock it, empty the rest of the powder into the barrel, press paper and ball into the muzzle, and ram home. Then the Orderly-sergeant called the roll, and we knew that the Dixie Greys were present to a man. Soon after, there was a commotion, and we dressed up smartly. A young Aide galloped along our front, gave some instructions to the Brigadier Hindman, who confided the same to his Colonels, and presently we swayed forward in line, with shouldered arms. Newton Story, big, broad, and straight, bore our company-banner of gay silk, at which the ladies of our neighbourhood had laboured.
 

As we tramped solemnly and silently through the thin forest, and over its grass, still in its withered and wintry hue, I noticed that the sun was not far from appearing, that our regiment was keeping its formation admirably, that the woods would have been a grand place for a picnic ; and I thought it strange that a Sunday should have been chosen to disturb the holy calm of those woods.
 

Before we had gone five hundred paces, our serenity was disturbed by some desultory firing in front. It was then a quarter-past five. 'They are at it already,' we whispered to each other. “Stand by, gentlemen,” —for we were all gentlemen volunteers at this time,— said our Captain, L. G. Smith.

Our steps became unconsciously brisker, and alertness was noticeable in everybody. The firing continued at intervals, deliberate and scattered, as at target-practice. We drew nearer to the firing, and soon a sharper rattling of musketry was heard. “That is the enemy waking up,” we said. Within a few minutes, there was another explosive burst of musketry, the air was pierced by many missiles, which hummed and
pinged sharply by our ears, pattered through the tree-tops, and brought twigs and leaves down on us. “Those are bullets,” Henry whispered with awe.
 

At two hundred yards further, a dreadful roar of musketry broke out from a regiment adjoining ours. It was followed by another further off, and the sound had scarcely died away when regiment after regiment blazed away and made a continuous roll of sound. “We are in for it now,” said Henry; but as yet we had seen nothing, though our ears were tingling under the animated volleys.
 

Forward, gentlemen, make ready!'" urged Captain Smith. In response, we surged forward, for the first time marring the alignment. We trampled recklessly over the grass and young sprouts. Beams of sunlight stole athwart our course. The sun was up above the horizon. Just then we came to a bit of packland, and overtook our skirmishers, who had been engaged in exploring our front. We passed beyond them.
Nothing now stood between us and the enemy.
 

“There they are!” was no sooner uttered, than we cracked into them with levelled muskets. “Aim low, men !” commanded Captain Smith. I tried hard to see some living thing to shoot at, for it appeared absurd to be blazing away at shadows. But, still advancing, firing as we moved, I, at last, saw a row of little globes of pearly smoke streaked with crimson, breakingout, with spurtive quickness, from a long line of bluey figures in front; and, simultaneously, there broke upon our ears an appalling crash of sound, the series of fusillades following one another with startling suddenness, which suggested to my somewhat moidered sense a mountain  upheaved, with huge rocks tumbling and thundering down a slope, and the echoes rumbling and receding through space. Again and again, these loud and quick explosions were repeated, seemingly with increased violence, until they rose to the highest pitch of fury, and in unbroken continuity. All the world seemed involved in one tremendous ruin !
 

This was how the conflict was ushered in — as it affected me. I looked around to see the effect on others, or whether I was singular in my emotions, and was glad to notice that each was possessed with his own thoughts. All were pale, solemn, and absorbed; but, beyond that, it was impossible for me to discover what they thought of it; but, by transmission of sympathy, I felt that they would gladly prefer to be elsewhere, though the law of the inevitable kept them in line to meet their destiny. It might be mentioned, however, that at no time were we more instinctively inclined to obey the voice of command. We had no individuality at this moment, but all motions and thoughts were surrendered to the unseen influence which directed our movements. Probably few bothered their minds with self-questionings as to the issue to themselves.

That properly belongs to other moments, to the night, to the interval between waking and sleeping, to the first moments of the dawn — not when every nerve is tense, and the spirit is at the highest pitch of action. Though one's senses were preternaturally acute, and engaged with their impressions, we plied our arms, loaded, and fired, with such nervous haste as though it depended on each of us how soon this fiendish uproar would be hushed. My nerves tingled, my pulses beat double-quick, my heart throbbed loudly, and almost painfully ; but, amid all the excitement, my thoughts, swift as the flash of lightning, took all sound, and sight, and self, into their purview. I listened to the battle raging far away on the flanks, to the thunder in front, to the various sounds made by the leaden storm. I was angry with my rear rank, because he made my eyes smart with the powder of his musket ; and I felt like cuffing him for deafening my ears ! I knew how Captain Smith and Lieutenant Mason looked, how bravely the Dixie Greys' banner ruffled over Newton Story's head, and that all hands were behaving as though they knew how long all this would last. Back to myself my thoughts came, and, with the whirring bullet, they fled to the blue-bloused ranks afront. They dwelt on their movements, and read their temper, as I should read time by a clock. Through the lurid haze the contours of their pink faces could not be seen, but their gappy, hesitating, incoherent, and sensitive line revealed their mood clearly.

We continued advancing, step by step, loading and firing as we went. To every forward step, they took a backward move, loading and firing as they slowly withdrew. Twenty thousand muskets were being fired at this stage, but, though accuracy of aim was impossible, owing to our labouring hearts, and the jarring and excitement, many bullets found their destined billets on both sides.

After a steady exchange of musketry, which lasted some time, we heard the order: “Fix Bayonets! On the doublequick!” in tones that thrilled us. There was a simultaneous bound forward, each soul doing his best for the emergency. The Federals appeared inclined to await us; but, at this juncture, our men raised a yell, thousands responded to it, and burst out into the wildest yelling it has ever been my lot to hear. It drove all sanity and order from among us. It served the double purpose of relieving pent-up feelings, and transmitting encouragement along the attacking line. I rejoiced in the shouting like the rest. It reminded me that there were about four hundred companies like the Dixie Greys, who shared our feelings. Most of us, engrossed with the musketwork, had forgotten the fact; but the wave after wave of human voices, louder than all other battle-sounds together, penetrated to every sense, and stimulated our energies to the utmost.
 

“They fly!” was echoed from lip to lip. It accelerated our pace, and filled us with a noble rage. Then I knew what the Berserker passion was ! It deluged us with rapture, and transfigured each Southerner into an exulting victor. At such a moment, nothing could have halted us.
Those savage yells, and the sight of thousands of racing figures coming towards them, discomfited the blue-coats; and when we arrived upon the place where they had stood, they had vanished. Then we caught sight of their beautiful array of tents, before which they had made their stand, after being roused from their Sunday-morning sleep, and huddled into line, at hearing their pickets challenge our skirmishers.
 

The half-dressed dead and wounded showed what a surprise our attack had been. We drew up in the enemy's camp, panting and breathing hard. Some precious minutes were thus lost in recovering our breaths, indulging our curiosity, and re-forming our line. Signs of a hasty rouse to the battle were abundant. Military equipments, uniform-coats, halfpacked knapsacks, bedding, of a new and superior quality, littered the company streets.
 

Meantime, a series of other camps lay behind the first array of tents. The resistance we had met, though comparatively brief, enabled the brigades in rear of the advance camp to recover from the shock of the surprise ; but our delay had not been long enough to give them time to form in proper order of battle. There were wide gaps between their divisions, into which the quick-flowing tide of elated Southerners entered, and compelled them to fall back lest they should be surrounded. Prentiss's brigade, despite their most desperate efforts, were thus  hemmed in on all sides, and were made prisoners. I had a momentary impression that, with the capture of the first camp, the battle was well-nigh over ; but, in fact, it was only a brief prologue of the long and exhaustive series of struggles which took place that day.
 

Continuing our advance, we came in view of the tops of another mass of white tents, and,  almost at the same time, were met by a furious storm of bullets, poured on us from a long line of blue-coats, whose attitude of assurance proved to us that we should have tough work here. But we were so much heartened by our first success that it would have required a good deal to have halted our advance for long. Their opportunity for making a full impression on us came with terrific suddenness. The world seemed bursting into fragments. Cannon and musket, shell and bullet, lent their several intensities to the distracting uproar. If I had not a fraction of an ear, and an eye inclined towards my Captain and Company, I had been spell-bound by the energies now opposed to us. I likened the cannon, with their deep bass, to the roaring of a great herd of lions; the ripping, cracking musketry, to the incessant yapping of terriers ; the findy whisk of shells, and zipping of minie bullets, to the swoop of eagles, and the buzz of angry wasps. All the opposing armies of Grey and Blue fiercely blazed at each other.
 

After being exposed for a few seconds to this fearful downpour, we heard the order to “Lie down, men, and continue your firing!” Before me was a prostrate tree, about fifteen inches in diameter, with a narrow strip of light between it and the ground. Behind this shelter a dozen of us flung ourselves. The security it appeared to offer restored me to my individuality. We could fight, and think, and observe, better than out in the open. But it was a terrible period ! How the cannon bellowed, and their shells plunged and bounded, and flew with screeching hisses over us ! Their sharp rending explosions and hurtling fragments made us shrink and cower, despite our utmost efforts to be cool and collected. I marvelled, as I heard the unintermitting patter, snip, thud, and hum of the bullets, how anyone could live under this raining death. I could hear the balls beating a merciless tattoo on the outer surface of the log, pinging vivaciously as they flew off at a tangent from it, and thudding into something or other, at the rate of a hundred a second. One, here and there, found its way under the log, and buried itself in a comrade's body. One man raised his chest, as if to yawn, and jostled me. I turned to him, and saw that a bullet had gored his whole face, and penetrated into his chest. Another ball struck a man a deadly rap on the head, and he turned on his back and showed his ghastly white face to the sky.
 

“It is getting too warm, boys!” cried a soldier, and he uttered a vehement curse upon keeping soldiers hugging the ground until every ounce of courage was chilled. He lifted his head a little too high, and a bullet skimmed over the top of the log and hit him fairly in the centre of his forehead, and he fell heavily on his face. But his thought had been instantaneously general; and the officers, with one voice, ordered the charge; and cries of “Forward, forward!” raised us, as with a spring, to our feet, and changed the complexion of our feelings. The pulse of action beat feverishly once more; and, though overhead was crowded with peril, we were unable to give it so much attention as when we lay stretched on the ground.

Just as we bent our bodies for the onset, a boy's voice cried out, “Oh, stop, please stop a bit, I have been hurt, and can't move!” I turned to look, and saw Henry Parker, standing on one leg, and dolefully regarding his smashed foot. In another second, we were striding impetuously towards the enemy, vigorously plying our muskets, stopping only to prime the pan and ram the load down, when, with a spring or two, we would fetch up with the front, aim, and fire. 

Our progress was not so continuously rapid as we desired, for the blues were obdurate; but at this moment we were gladdened at the sight of a battery galloping to our assistance. It was time for the nerve-shaking cannon to speak. After two rounds of shell and canister, we felt the pressure on us slightly relaxed ; but we were still somewhat sluggish in disposition, though the officers' voices rang out imperiously.
 

Newton Story at this juncture strode forward rapidly with the Dixies' banner, until he was quite sixty yards ahead of the foremost. Finding himself alone, he halted; and turning to us smilingly, said, “Why don't you come on, boys?” You see there is no danger!' His smile and words acted on us like magic. We raised the yell, and sprang lightly and hopefully towards him. “Let's give them hell, boys!” said one. "Plug them plum-centre, every time!' It was all very encouraging, for the yelling and shouting were taken up by thousands. “Forward, forward ; don't give them breathing time!” was cried. We instinctively obeyed, and soon came in clear view of the blue-coats, who were scornfully unconcerned at first ; but, seeing the leaping tide of men coming on at a tremendous pace, their front dissolved, and they fled in double-quick retreat. Again we felt the 'glorious joy of heroes.' It carried us on exultantly, rejoicing in the spirit which recognises nothing but the prey. We were no longer an army of soldiers, but so many school-boys racing, in which length of legs, wind, and condition tell.

We gained the second line of camps, continued the rush through them, and clean beyond. It was now about ten o'clock. My physical powers were quite exhausted, and, to add to my discomfiture, something struck me on my belt clasp, and tumbled me headlong to the ground.
I could not have been many minutes prostrated before I recovered from the shock of the blow and fall, to find my clasp deeply dented and cracked. My company was not in sight. I was grateful for the rest, and crawled feebly to a tree, and plunging my hand into my haversack, ate ravenously. Within half an hour, feeling renovated, I struck north in the direction which my regiment had taken, over a ground strewn with bodies and the debris of war. The desperate character of this day's battle was now brought home to my mind in all its awful reality. While in the tumultuous advance, and occupied with a myriad of exciting incidents, it was only at brief intervals that I was conscious of wounds being given and received ; but now, in the trail of pursuers and pursued, the ghastly relics appalled every sense.
 

I felt curious as to who the fallen Greys were, and moved to one stretched straight out. It was the body of a stout English Sergeant of a neighbouring company, the members of which hailed principally from the Washita Valley. At the crossing of the Arkansas River this plump, ruddy-faced man had been conspicuous for his complexion, jovial features, and good humour, and had been nicknamed 'John Bull.' He was now lifeless, and lay with his eyes wide open, regardless of the scorching sun, and the tempestuous cannonade which sounded through the forest, and the musketry that crackled incessantly along the front. Close by him was a young Lieutenant, who, judging by the new gloss on his uniform, must have been some father's darling. A clean bullet-hole through the centre of his forehead had instantly ended his career. A little further were some twenty bodies, lying in various postures, each by its own pool of viscous blood, which emitted a peculiar scent, which was new to me, but which I have since learned is inseparable from a battle-field. Beyond these, a still larger group lav, body overlying body, knees crooked, arms erect, or wide-stretched and rigid, according as the last spasm overtook them. The company opposed to them must have shot straight.
 
Other details of that ghastly trail formed a mass of horrors that will always be remembered at the mention of Shiloh. I can never forget the impression those wide-open dead eyes made on me. Each seemed to be starting out of its socket, with a look similar to the fixed wondering gaze of an infant, as though the dying had viewed something appalling at the last moment. "Can it be," I asked myself, "that at the last glance they saw their own retreating souls, and wondered why their caskets were left behind, like offal?" My surprise was that the form we made so much of, and that nothing was too good for, should now be mutilated, hacked, and outraged ; and that the life, hitherto guarded as a sacred thing, and protected by the Constitution, Law, Ministers of Justice, Police, should, of a sudden, — at least, before I can realise it, — be given up to death !
 

An object once seen, if it has affected my imagination, remains indelibly fixed in my memory ; and, among many other scenes with which it is now crowded, I cannot forget that half-mile square of woodland, lighted brightly by the sun, and littered by the forms of about a thousand dead and wounded men, and by horses, and military equipments. It formed a picture that may always be reproduced with an almost absolute fidelity. For it was the first Field of Glory I had seen in my May of life, and the first time that Glory sickened me with its repulsive aspect, and made me suspect it was all a glittering lie. In my imagination, I saw more than it was my fate to see with my eyes, for, under a flag of truce, I saw the bearers pick up the dead from the field, and lay them in long rows beside a wide trench ; I saw them laid, one by one, close together at the bottom, — thankless victims of a perished cause, and all their individual hopes, pride, honour, names, buried under oblivious earth."

En bonus, une photo de Stanley en 1861 à l'âge de 20 ans.



 

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PostPosted: Mon 10 May - 21:21 (2010)    Post subject: Un Anglais Sudiste, ensuite Nordiste p'têt déserteur aussi.. Reply with quote

Merci Ingalls,
Je vais reprendre mon vieux dicso d'anglais et éventuellement rechercher si y a pas moyen de retrouver le texte en Français.

Amic, Pirlouis.
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PostPosted: Tue 11 May - 17:07 (2010)    Post subject: Un Anglais Sudiste, ensuite Nordiste p'têt déserteur aussi.. Reply with quote

j'ai le fascicule de la CHAB sur Stanley (en français) mais j'ai la flemme de retaper tout le texte ...
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la bonne cause ? c'est celle pour laquelle on se bat !
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PostPosted: Tue 11 May - 18:31 (2010)    Post subject: Un Anglais Sudiste, ensuite Nordiste p'têt déserteur aussi.. Reply with quote

d'autant qu'à la CHAB, ils sont pointilleux sur les droits d'auteur (traducteur en l'occurrence)...
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PostPosted: Tue 11 May - 18:58 (2010)    Post subject: Un Anglais Sudiste, ensuite Nordiste p'têt déserteur aussi.. Reply with quote

Oui, tu as certainement raison Ingalls, mais je crois que l'important c'est de essayer de trouver la vérité..., il est de notorité publique que ce personnage héroique a été en accord avec le Roi des Belges, pour arranger la proriété du Congo, mais là on dépasse le but de l'histoire de la C.W.

J'ai peu être été un peu trop loin dans les idées avancées, mais pour ma part, il fait partie d'un camp et il y reste, soit Sudiste ou Nordiste, mais tu ne change pas d'opinion selon les opportunités
 qui peuvent s'offrir.

Na, c'est mon sale caractère de taureau qui ressurgit...

Toutes mes amitiés pour vos réponses.

Amic, Pirlouis.
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