PART X.

THE SEVEN DAYS' RETREAT, 1862.

On the morning of the twenty-sixth of June, 1862, everything was quiet in our camps; only the fire of an occasional gun was heard in the front of the main part of our army, on the other side of the Chickahominy. We were enduring a very hot period of weather and sought relief from the fierce rays of the sun under our little shelter tents which we opened on all sides for more air. Men who were not on duty smoked, played cards, chatted or discussed the conduct of the war and explained how it should be managed; they damned the cabinet and the politicians in Washington, who really managed the war and interfered often disastrously with the commanding generals in the field. They expressed indignation against the Copperhead (Rebel sympathizing) papers in the North and wondered why they were not suppressed. They made rough estimates of the enormous cost of the war which drew forth a remark from one of the party, that he thought many millions could be saved if the Government advertised for bids to put down the rebellion and awarded the job to some Napoleonic contractor.

About the middle of the afternoon we were suddenly startled by heavy firing in the direction of our right wing at Beaver Dam Creek near Mechanicsville, about three miles from our camp, where the third division of the Fifth Army Corps under General McCall was posted in a strong position. Presently the firing increased to heavy volleys, mingled with the thunder of artillery, and we realized that the long expected attack on our right wing had begun. The drummers beat the long roll and in a moment all was activity in camp. Tents were struck, knapsacks were packed, rations were issued and cartridge boxes replenished; the wagons were packed and all ready for a movement; we only awaited orders to march to the support of the third division. Then came a lull in the firing for an hour or more, only to be renewed about sundown with increased fury when Sykes's division was ordered forward. We took the road towards Mechanicsville and marched in quick time to within half a mile or so of the battle line, when we were halted for a while and then turned off the road into a plowed field on the right, where we were to bivouac for the night. It was getting dark but considerable firing was still going on and it was after nine o'clock before it ceased entirely. We stacked arms and sat on our knapsacks on the ground waiting.

From orderlies and wounded men passing to the rear, we learned that the enemy had crossed and were still crossing the Chickahominy by the upper bridges; and had made fierce attacks on the strong position of the third division on Beaver Dam Creek where they had been repulsed with great loss, while our loss was small; but that by morning the enemy would be in such overwhelming numbers that the position would be untenable. This information made it seem sure to us that there would be another battle on the morrow and that we would take part in it; and for the first time we experienced the peculiar feeling and mental condition of the soldier on the eve of battle, a condition that has been described in prose and poetry, as the "night before the battle." Heretofore our brigade had only been under artillery and picket firing, in which there had been but few casualties, but now we were to face more serious encounters with the enemy.

We all felt grave. Each man seemed to reflect. I heard none boast as to what they would do to-morrow. Intimate friends made known their wishes to each other, in case either of them should not survive. We spread our blankets on the plowed field. It was a beautiful moonlight night. I lay awake a long time looking at the starry heavens, thinking of my mother, who was my only relative. I believe that to a young soldier the anticipation and certainty of a battle for many hours before it occurs is one of the most trying parts of it. I suppose that I felt just like my comrades. I prayed and hoped that I might be spared, or, if I was to fall, that I might be killed rather than mutilated. At last I fell asleep and slept soundly until awakened at daylight next morning.

The events of the next few days made a stronger impression on my youthful memory than any other occurrence throughout the war, and it seems to me that at this writing, after a period of more than fifty years, I remember and can describe my feelings and actions, step by step, as though it had all happened but a week ago.

After a hasty breakfast without coffee, we stood to arms and waited. Some troops were marching on the road to the rear and we learned that General McCall's division was being quietly withdrawn from their defenses. Only some rambling shots could be heard. After a while we marched out into the road and in the direction of Cold Harbor, which was simply a traven at the intersection of two roads. On our way we passed our old camp and the mill and noticed that all our wagons had departed during the night and that quantities of provisions which they could not carry had been set on fire and were still burning.

We were halted several times and remained in line of battle for an hour or more before we went on again; sometimes we countermarched. The forenoon was well spent when we passed Cold Harbor and took the road leading to Turkey Hill and Woodbury's Bridge. When we reached the vicinity of the Adams house, where General Porter established his headquarters, we halted again and were ordered to pile our knapsacks in a field at the edge of the road where a small guard was left in charge of them, while we went on about a quarter of a mile further and took up a position on some high ground in a field on the road leading to New Cold Harbor where we found Warren's brigade and other troops who had preceded us.

It was past noon when we arrived here and sat or lay down on the grass by the roadside under a broiling hot sun and ate our dinner of boiled bacon and hardtack. I remember distinctly that it was bacon, for when I took my piece out of my haversack and unwrapped it, I found it had melted nearly half away from the great heat since early morning. We lay around and smoked our pipes trying to find a little shade from some low bushes that grew along the road, while we listened to an occasional cannon shot which seemed to be a long way off.

The position of my regiment was near the highest part of the road which at this point was about two feet below the general surface of the ground, thus forming a low breastwork. In our front were open fields bordered by woods three hundred yards or more away. Some distance to our left the fields were broken by a small stream in a ravine fringed with bushes and some trees. This stream crossed the road we were on about three hundred yards to our left and at a lower level. Beyond the stream the fields rose again to the edge of the woods. In our rear there was a gentle upward slope which reached a height of about a dozen feet above the level of the road and was within sight of the Watt house surrounded by fields. On this commanding but exposed position a regular battery soon appeared, unlimbered their guns and prepared for action, the cannoneers filling their sponge buckets with water, while others tore down the rail fence in front of the guns on the high side of the road.

From our position I had a good view of the open fields and the locality made such an impression on my memory, that I had no difficulty in recognizing it many years afterward when I revisited the scene. The road to the right and left of us was filled with troops of Sykes's division. I noticed that Warren's brigade, which I recognized by the Zouave uniforms of the Fifth New York, was posted in some depressed ground in front of the road in advance and at some distance to our left.

I think it was some time after two o'clock in the afternoon that picket firing became more frequent and kept on getting closer. We lined up against the rail fence watching the fields in our front anxiously. Presently I noticed a company of the "Duryee Zouaves" leave their regiment, deploy as skirmishers, and enter the woods opposite them; and in a little while we heard the crack of their rifles. Then we realized that the enemy was driving in our pickets and preparing to attack us.

Two pieces of woods formed almost a right angle about five hundred yards from our position and in the corner there was a wide gap through which I could see the country for a mile or more beyond. I noticed a great cloud of dust which seemed to be approaching, and when it neared the gap I could make out that there were horses, but was not sure whether it was cavalry or artillery from the dust they raised. My doubts about this were dispelled in a few minutes when I saw a sudden puff of smoke and heard the familiar sound of a shell passing over our heads. We heard the command to lie down and obeyed it promptly, throwing ourselves face down in the thick dust of the road. The shots now came in such quick succession that I judged a full battery of six guns was firing at our battery, stationed directly in the rear of my regiment only a few yards away, which lost no time in replying and whose guns roared with deafening effect close over our heads as we lay in the road. Amid all this noise and the bursting of the enemy's shells among and behind the battery, we could sometimes hear the groans of a wounded battery horse.

As I explained before, we had some protection from this fire, inasmuch as the road was sunk about two feet, and only one of the many shells fired burst directly over our heads, killing two and wounding three men of Company G., next to my company on the left. While this firing was going on, I think each man tried to make himself as thin as possible--I know that I did. Each time I heard the scream of a shell coming our way, I hugged the ground so close that I broke the crystal and hands of an open-faced watch which I carried in my pocket, and I felt a great sense of relief when I heard the explosion of the shell behind me. I ardently wished to be in some other place or that the firing would cease.

I do not know just how long this artillery duel lasted--to me it seemed an age--but it was probably less than an hour before there was a lull in the firing. We arose, and I looked at the two men who had been killed close by and saw that one had had his head blown clean off, leaving only a stump of the neck; while the other had a large hole in the side of his head. The sight was horrible; they lay in a great pool of blood. The three wounded men had been removed. I took a look at the battery in our rear and judged from what I could see that they had not suffered as much as I had expected.

The battle had now begun in earnest at several points along our line; we heard the heavy volleys of the infantry and the thunder of many guns. I stood at the fence and, amid much smoke, saw that Warren's brigade had become engaged with the enemy who were at the edge of the woods. Soon I noticed a large body of Rebels come out of the woods, apparently in our direction, when the command to lie down was again given and this time a warning from the officer commanding the battery that he was about to fire canister at the approaching enemy. Canister shot is a round tin can made to fit the bore of the gun. It is filled with bullets. When fired, the tin is blown to pieces and the bullets have a tendency to scatter. A few dozen rounds of canister from our battery drove the enemy back into the woods leaving their dead and wounded out in the field. While the canister firing went on a little incident occurred which under other conditions might have been humorous. A man in my company was hit by something in a very soft part of his body, covered by the seat of his pants, and let out a yell that he was wounded. When the firing ceased and an examination was made, only a large red spot could be found on his skin; he had evidently been hit by a piece of tin or solder from a canister which no doubt stung him hard!

My regiment now received orders to form ranks and we immediately went forward down the road at a run, passing other regiments held in reserve who encouraged us with such remarks as "Go in, Second Infantry, and give them hell! Pitch into them, boys!" When we came to the little stream previously mentioned, we filed to the right and passed along for some distance, halted, closed up the ranks and fixed bayonets when I discovered that I had lost mine; it had slipped out of its scabbard while I was climbing a fence. We then crossed the ravine and brush and went up the incline in company front and found ourselves on the right of the Fifth New York Regiment of Warren's brigade, prolonging his line of battle. I distinctly remember seeing General Warren mounted on a gray horse at the right front of his line, a very conspicuous figure, watching the Second Infantry taking their place in line.

At this stage of the war neither the officers nor the soldiers had learned to take advantage of any inequalities of the ground, or in the absence of such, to dig a hole and throw up a small heap of dirt for protection, behind which the soldier lay and fired if the enemy was at some distance. They learned to do this very soon, however. In passing I noticed that most of the Fifth New York on our left had set up their knapsacks in front of them and were firing in a horizontal position.

Our colors were planted on the very brow of the rise and we dressed (aligned) to them as we did when on parade. This brought us in full view of and made us a conspicuous mark for the enemy who were plainly seen at the edge of a wood directly in front about two hundred yards away. As soon as they observed us they began firing, with but little effect at first, until some minutes after when they estimated the distance more closely. We lost no time in replying. The command was given to commence firing, to fire at will, and to sight for two hundred yards.

As soon as I began to fire at the enemy, I was inspired by very different feelings from what I had experienced while lying inactively in the road, being shelled by the enemy and unable to reply; this, I think, has a dispiriting effect on a young soldier. I now felt a strong desire to inflict all the damage I could on the enemy. I was cool and collected and took deliberate aim with every shot, as long as I could distinguish individuals, and when the smoke became thick I aimed at the flash of their guns and admonished my nearest comrades in the ranks do the same.

The bullets began to whistle spitefully about our ears now; some struck the ground in front of us, raising the dust, but the greater part of them went above our heads. A hasty glance to the right and left along the line showed me, however, that men were falling here and there, and presently my comrade on my right in the front rank pitched forward on his face to the ground, exclaiming with a groan, "I've got it!" He seemed in intense pain and clutched the earth with his fingers. I turned him on his back and found that he had been hit in the right thigh, and I am sure that in the din of battle I heard the bullet strike him and break the thigh bone. There is a peculiar sound or thud when a bullet enters a human body, different from that which it makes when striking other objects--a sound, once heard, not easily forgotten. I ordered two men to take the wounded man a few yards to the rear, down the incline, out of the line of fire, where they left him in the shade of some bushes and saw to it that he had his canteen handy, and then they took their places again in the firing line. When the wounded man was removed I picked up his rifle, took off the bayonet and affixed it to mine, thinking I might need it if we came to close quarters.

I will here digress in my story and relate what happened to this soldier whom we left grievously wounded on the battle field when we had to retreat, for the purpose of showing how the enemy often cruelly neglected our wounded. The man's name was Charles Rehm. He was company clerk at this time, and I had known him well ever since he joined my company at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, in 1858. I met him about eighteen months after this battle, while on a short furlough in Washington. He related to me how, soon after being wounded, he seemed to have lost consciousness and remembered little until near the close of the following day--more than twenty-six hours after he was hit--when a Rebel surgeon attended him and he was sent to a hospital in Richmond that night along with many other wounded Union prisoners. There they wanted to amputate his leg, but he told them he would rather die than loose his leg. He was a young man about twenty-five, strong and vigorous. He recovered, but his right leg was much shorter than the left; he had to use a cane and limped badly. At the time he was employed as a clerk in the War Department.

To continue my story of the battle, after firing many rounds in our exposed position we were ordered to fall back a few paces and to fire kneeling or lying down. The rising ground in front of us now gave us a little protection. I fired a few rounds in a prostrate position, in which it was difficult to reload, until I saw a man a few files from me receive a horrible wound which opened his face from his forehead to his chin; then I arose and fired kneeling until I heard a sudden command to close ranks and fire by company. This command, I learned afterward, was given because the enemy seemed to form for a charge upon us. We arose and in close double ranks began to fire volleys all together, to the commands of "load!" "ready!" "aim!" and "fire!" which proved to be very effective, for the Rebels retired into the woods and for a little while their firing ceased; then it recommenced in a more feeble way, when we ceased firing by company and fired at will again. While the volley firing was going on, I received what seemed like a hard blow on the right side of my head which staggered me; but I immediately guessed the cause of it and turned around to my rear-rank man, who had to fire over my shoulder, and soundly berated and threatened him. He proved to be the stupid and excitable recruit, named Davis, whom I had drilled in Washington at times. My neck and ear were blackened with powder, and it was months before I regained perfect hearing.

Loading and firing the old style muzzle loading arms was slow compared with modern arms and metallic cartridges. Before the gun could be fired, we had to take a paper cartridge out of the cartridge box, convey it to the mouth, bite off the end and pour the powder into the muzzle of the gun barrel held vertically. Then we tore off the remaining paper to free the ball and inserted that into the muzzle; the ramrod was now drawn, turned around, end for end, and the ball rammed home without any wadding; the ramrod was then drawn out, turned and restored to its place. The gun was now brought to the right hip, full cocked, a percussion cap placed on the nipple, and was then ready to aim and fire. All this required many motions and much time.

The day was intensely hot, my clothing was saturated with perspiration, the bright barrel of my gun was so heated by the fierce rays of the sun and the firing that it seemed to burn my hands and I was almost afraid to reload it without giving it time to cool off. I think we had been under fire nearly two hours, and our forty rounds of ammunition were almost exhausted when a regiment of the Pennsylvania Bucktails (so called because each soldier had a buck's tail sewed to his cap) arrived to relieve us. We were ordered to retire into the small ravine behind us, passing through the ranks of the Bucktails who advanced to take our places. We left our dead and seriously wounded behind us where they fell, unable to give them any help, crossed the little stream in the ravine and formed ranks on the other side in a field--a much shorter line than it had been but two hours before.

We marched off in good order to the rear until we gained some rising ground, when a Rebel battery opened on us with grape shot which killed and wounded more of our men, among them Captain Richard Brindley who commanded the regiment at this time. He was instantly killed by a grape shot. We broke into double quick pace to reach lower ground and escape from the fire of this battery; then we turned to the right in the direction of the Adams house and halted about a half a mile back of our firing line, where we found some regiments from General Slocum's division, which had been sent by General McClellan from the other side of the Chickahominy to reinforce the Fifth Army Corps which up to this time had held more than double its number of the enemy at bay. The battle at this time was raging fiercely--nearly a hundred thousand men were engaged; from our position, however, we saw but little of it except some batteries on high ground behind us firing over our heads at the enemy.

We lay on the ground, tired and exhausted by what we had gone through, noting the absence of many of our comrades and relating to each other how we had seen this or that one fall. Three of our lieutenants we had not seen since noon-time; and we wondered what had become of our band and the drummers and fifers, whom we had not seen since morning, and who should have been acting as stretcher-bearers to carry the wounded off the field. There was no organized ambulance corps in our brigade at this time, and but few ambulances; and, unfortunately, the wounded soldiers who could not walk were left on the field where they fell. This sad state of affairs was much improved later on in the war.

Some ammunition now arrived, but only twenty rounds could be served out to each man. The first sergeant of my company informed me that I had been selected to serve on the color guard. This was considered an honor, but it had its disadvantages, the killed and wounded being always greater in proportion on the color guard than in the companies. One of our two color sergeants had been killed and two of the color corporals wounded. I left the ranks of my company and joined the color guard. I expected to find the colors riddled with bullet holes from the fire of the enemy and was greatly surprised to find a bare half-dozen holes in each.

We remained in our position a while longer and saw many wounded men and stragglers making their way to the rear. Presently larger bodies of broken regiments appeared and we realized that the Fifth Corps was being forced back by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. Some loud cheering on the high ground about a quarter of a mile to the rear startled us, and, from the appearance of the troops of which some regiments wore straw hats, we thought they were Rebels who had broken into our ranks from the rear, but they proved to be parts of French's and Meagher's Irish brigades which had been sent to reinforce General Porter. They were sent too late, however, to be of material assistance.

It was nearly sunset when two officers from General Sykes's staff made their appearance and gave some order to Captain John S. Poland who was now in command, and immediately the order was given to fall in, then by the left flank forward at double quick. The two aides-de-camp were mounted and led the column to make a charge on the enemy by General Sykes's order; one of them was Lieutenant Thomas D. Parker of my regiment, the name of the other, who belonged to a different regiment, I do not remember. We rushed on for about two hundred yards when we halted for a brief space to correct the alignment on the colors in the center; then the command "forward, charge." was given and we rushed up a hill for a hundred yards or so, cheering and yelling like mad, the two aides-de-camp riding in front in the center waving their swords.

It suddenly came to me that we were about to attack the enemy with bayonets. I had been instructed in bayonet drill and had practised until I was considered proficient; but I think at this moment I had a secret wish that the adversary whom I might encounter would not be a bigger man than I. I looked ahead but could see no enemy until we reached the crest of the hill, when we suddenly received a staggering fire, from a Rebel regiment that seemed not more than twenty yards away. I saw both of the mounted officers fall at the first fire, Lieutenant Parker being killed and the other wounded. One of the horses dropped, while the other rushed madly through our ranks.

I do not know whether it was by word of command or by instinct that we halted and instantly began firing instead of rushing on with the bayonet. I dropped on one knee and commenced firing as fast as I could; I aimed at their colors which were almost opposite ours. We were so close together that for a few minutes I could plainly distinguish the features and color of clothing of our opponents until the smoke obscured them. Suddenly their fire slackened and then ceased altogether; they seemed to have melted away down their side of the hill, and we could see only their dead and wounded on the ground where they had been in line. Why we did not pursue the retreating enemy puzzled me, for I thought we now had a chance to give them a good thrashing.

I stood up and looked around on a sight still vividly impressed on my memory. We were on high ground overlooking a considerable part of the fields on which the battle now raged; the sun was setting and with its almost horizontal rays lit up a magnificent panorama such as I have never seen since. I could see masses of infantry engaged in deadly struggle, the flashing of the artillery, and I heard the terrific roar; but what fascinated me was the figure of a Rebel officer, mounted on a horse reared up until he seemed to stand almost straight on his hind legs. I could see the officer waving his sword over his head, apparently urging his command forward. At this moment the horse and rider, illuminated by the parting rays of the sun, appeared gigantic and towered above all else. It was a picture for an artist. I took all this in, it seemed to me, in a few seconds, when I heard a command given and dropped back into my place. The enemy had been so close to us, and I had been so busy loading and firing, that I had looked neither to the right nor to the left, but now I observed that we had suffered severely and that two corporals of the color guard had been wounded.

Suddenly we heard the Rebel yell and saw a mass of Rebel infantry rushing toward us. We began firing at them as soon as we saw their heads appear above the crest of the hill. They halted, short of their former line it seemed to me, and delivered their fire as we had done when we had rushed at them. Later on, when I had time to think it over, it seemed to me that these tactics were not in accordance with what I had supposed a charge to be. In this case both sides, finding that the party attacked was not inclined to run, halted and peppered away at each other rather than become engaged at close quarters.

Our condition now was rather serious. Our ammunition was running very low and I suppose there were no reinforcements close at hand. A German battery posted on some high ground behind us tried to aid by firing at the Rebels, but unfortunately their aim was bad and they did us more harm than they did to the enemy; a few of our men on the right being killed and some wounded in the back by the firing of this battery.

I had not fired many shots in the second encounter on the hill and was in the act of ramming a cartridge, when a command or shout caused me to look to the right and I saw that our right wing had broken and were running down the hill helter-skelter, and that we were being fired at from that direction, as well as from the front. I understood that we had been out-flanked and that we would be taken prisoners. I yelled to my comrades of the color guard and started to run with them, not taking time to withdraw the ramrod from the barrel of my gun. There was a friendly piece of woods a hundred yards or more ahead of us to our right--a shelter we were all striving for, but which many did not reach for the enemy kept up a hot fire all the way. Twice I had to jump over men who had been hit and rolled over in my path. The enemy kept on firing volleys into the woods for a time but made no attempt to follow us. I got behind a tree and, like many others, fired off half a dozen cartridges in the enemy's direction, retaining but two out of the sixty I had during the day. Darkness was coming on. For us the Battle of Gaines's Mill was over, but it still raged on other parts of the field as long as it was light, and I think it was nine o'clock before all firing ceased. I learned later that our last attack had been made on Turkey Hill, not very far from the position we had held at noon before the battle began. Therefore we had lost little ground.

Efforts were now made by our officers to reform our command which had become scattered throughout the woods; and with difficulty the remnants were gathered together and we made our way out of the woods to the road by which we had approached in the forenoon. Here we reformed ranks and took up our march in retreat.

We soon came to a place where the road was skirted by thick woods on the left and a high bank on the right with a free space between the bank and the road on which were piled hundreds of boxes of infantry and artillery ammunition. As we passed, a young and very indiscreet officer made frantic appeals to some of us to stop and help him set fire to the ammunition to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy. No attention was paid to him further than calling him a fool, for the road was crowded with retreating troops and wounded men making their way painfully to the rear. An explosion of the ammunition would have made sad havoc among them.

After a while we arrived at the point of the road where we had deposited our knapsacks. Here we were halted and told to pick them out in a hurry. It was dark by this time and the piles of knapsacks seemed to be mixed up in hopeless confusion. Very few of the soldiers got their own; I could not find mine nor even one belonging to my company. I had to grab one and rejoin the ranks.

We resumed our march in the direction of Woodbury's Bridge, and when we neared it, we were ordered to bivouac in a piece of woods on the left side of the road. I sought my company to bivouac with them, but could find only a few men. The first sergeant had a prisoner in charge, a Rebel lieutenant whom he turned over to me as I was the only non-commissioned officer of the company present besides himself. He told me to have him guarded during the night, but I resolved to guard him myself for a time and then turn him over to someone else. I talked with him for a while and gave him a couple of my crackers, and fortunately, he had a canteen of his own with some water in it, of which I was very glad, as I had but a swallow or two left in mine, having been unable to replenish it during the day. He lay down on the ground, after telling me that he was slightly wounded in the leg and apparently went to sleep. I tried hard to keep awake and for a while listened to our army marching on the road to the bridge; but I was so tired and exhausted by the trials of the day that, in spite of my resolution, I dropped to the ground and to sleep; and I think the heaviest cannonading could not have awakened me before daybreak. When, in the morning, someone shook me and I looked about, I found that my prisoner had escaped during the night. Nothing was said or done about it, and I was thankful that the prisoner had not harmed me, helpless as I was from fatigue.

On the morning of the twenty-eighth of June most of our stragglers and men who had lost their way in the woods the evening before rejoined us. The greater part of the army had crossed to the south side of the Chickahominy during the night, and it was left to Sykes's division of regulars to form the rear guard and destroy the bridges, which we did about an hour after daylight, unmolested by the enemy at the Woodbury Bridge where my brigade crossed. When we reached the other side we marched half a mile or more until we reached some higher ground, where we stacked arms and rested among some shrubbery beside the road.

Here for the first time in two days, I was able to boil some coffee which greatly cheered and refreshed me. I then opened the knapsack which I had picked up the night before and found therein the usual soldier's kit, and in addition thereto a neat and well-kept diary, in which the writer described how he had left his home in England and had come to Canada, where after a time he was employed on the estate of a gentleman as a horse-trainer; and how he got into some trouble with the female members of the family and was discharged, when he made his way into the United States and finally drifted into the army. Up to this point the diary was very complete and full of details; but of his army life there were only a few straggling entries made at odd times. No name appeared, neither was his company mentioned, but I found some initials on his clothing by means of which, after many inquiries, I found the company to which he belonged, but he had not been seen since our last fight with the enemy on Turkey Hill, where he was supposed to have been killed or taken prisoner. I left the diary with the first sergeant of his company to be returned to him if he ever came back. I made inquiries in regard to my own knapsack but could find no trace of it. The only things I regretted losing were a few letters and keepsakes.

Many of our wounded were transported to, or had gone on to Savage's Station, where there were thousands of them, but there were still a number of slightly wounded with us who kept our surgeon and hospital steward, assisted by a detail from the band, busy all the morning dressing their wounds. First sergeants of companies called the roll during the morning and, when they came to a name to which there was no response, those who had seen the man fall, killed or wounded stated it and the sergeant made note of it; of others, no one knew anything. Some of them may have been taken prisoners at Turkey Hill. In this way we learned approximately of our losses in this battle, which amounted to more than one-third of my regiment--a larger amount in proportion to our small number, only six companies, than any other regiment in our brigade. Our losses could not be computed accurately until sometime later. General George Sykes, in his report of the Battle of Gaines's Mill, mentions the Second and Sixth United States Infantry of our brigade, the Twelfth and Fourteenth of the First Brigade, and the "Duryee Zouaves" of the Third Brigade as especially conspicuous during the action.

All of the Army of the Potomac was now united on the south side of the Chickahominy nearer to Richmond than the greater part of the Rebel Army which was now divided by a river as we had been--Jackson's, Longstreet's and Hill's divisions under General Lee being on the north bank with many of the bridges destroyed by the Federal troops in their retreat. Even the rank and file knew this and we fully expected to be led on to Richmond with every chance of success in our favor; and when in the afternoon we heard some heavy firing on our side of the river, we thought our opportunity had arrived, but, as we learned later, it was only a minor engagement between a part of General Magruder's troops and General Smith's division of our Sixth Army Corps at Golding's Farm and was repulsed with small loss on our side.

We lay around in the hot sun all day, getting but little shade from some low bushes, were awaiting orders, but none came until evening. Ammunition was issued to us and one day's rations. Our supply trains to the number of about five thousand wagons, together with the reserve artillery, were on the way to the James river, where General McClellan had decided to establish a new base of supplies. Well on towards evening we received orders to "fall in," and marched off not knowing where we were going; but about dusk we arrived at Savage's Station on the Richmond and York River Railroad. Here many troops were in bivouac and thousands of wounded were gathered in hospital tents by the roadside, but the greater part of them lay around in the fields or woods without shelter of any kind. It was a sad sight for us to witness. There were not ambulances enough to transport the unfortunate victims and more than twenty-five hundred of them were abandoned and taken prisoners next day. We were halted here for sometime and noticed great fires burning up supplies and military stores of all kinds which left no doubt in our minds that we were retreating from Richmond.

We started on again and soon entered some dark and gloomy woods, through which the road led toward the White Oak Swamp. It was so dark in these woods that we could not distinguish anything half a dozen files in front of us. At a few places where the roads crossed, fires were lighted and guards were stationed to indicate the way. Owing to the darkness, mainly, and some rain, our progress was very slow and we had many halts of long and short duration, at some of these tired out, I dropped to the ground and fell asleep as soon as I touched it. During one of these short rests in the night, I was suddenly awakened by hearing shots fired close by me. I jumped up and in my confusion imagined that we were being attacked. I hid behind a tree on one side of the road, like many others, cocked my gun and listened. There was a noise which sounded like cavalry and a chatter like sabre scabbards, it seemed to us in our half-awake condition. Scattering shots continued to be fired, until it was discovered that the alarm was caused by an officer's pack-mule, that had escaped from his keeper and was running down the road among the sleeping soldiers, rattling the kettles and pans which were a part of his load. A number of shots were fired at him, but the mule bore a charmed life and was unharmed.

Soon after daylight on June twenty-ninth, we crossed the White Oak Swamp at what was known as Brackett's Ford, halting a short distance beyond, where we stopped to boil coffee and eat breakfast. The only water to be had was that of the swamp which was dark and stagnant. After breakfast we took up a position a little further on and remained in line of battle for hours, listening to the heavy firing behind us at Savage's Station, where General Sumner kept the enemy at bay until dark and then retreated during the night across White Oak Swamp.

The country we were in was a wilderness of woods, bush and swamps, and for two days we hardly saw a clearing, or a cabin. The enemy had repaired some of the bridges across the Chickahominy and we were in danger of flank attacks from both sides, the more so on our right, between us and the James river where the enemy followed us on a parallel road. Several times during the day in these woods, where the heat was almost insupportable and not a breath of air was stirring, we thought we were about to be attacked, and, with our rifles at full cock, kneeled on the ground peering into the thicket and silently awaited the foe. At different periods of the day some of our own troops marched along the road in the direction of Malvern Hill, but we remained until dark, only changing our position slightly a few times. After dark we resumed our march and put in another distressing night; the more so, as the guide for Sykes's division lost the road, causing us to countermarch for a long distance, so that we did not reach Malvern Hill where we were due in the early morning hours of June thirtieth until nearly noon next day. On this day a severe battle was fought at Glendale, which lay between the White Oak Swamp and Malvern Hill, by Generals McCall and Kearney against Generals Longstreet and Hill of the Confederates. This battle resulted in a repulse for the enemy and enabled our troops to retire to Malvern Hill during the night, where by daylight on July first the entire Army of the Potomac was assembled in a strong position selected by General McClellan.

Sykes's division, upon its arrival during the forenoon of June thirtieth was posted on the western edge of the large Malvern plateau, from the Malvern house toward the Crew house, except General Warren's brigade which formed the extreme left down on the river road in the bottom lands. Half a dozen batteries, including Tyler's battery of ten siege guns, were stationed at the edge of the plateau overlooking the steep slope and the fields in front, which ended with some woods about a thousand yards away. The regiments of Sykes's division were placed between the batteries for their support. My own was very close to the Malvern house, an old Colonial mansion built of bricks brought from Holland. General Fitz-John Porter made this house his headquarters. It was also used as a hospital during the battle and as a signal station, for it overlooked much of the country and the James river, where several gunboats armed with heavy guns were anchored. My regiment and another were placed between the siege-gun battery and a regular battery of six Napoleon guns.

The position occupied by the Fifth Corps was a commanding one and we hoped the enemy would attempt to assault it. We lay down in the hot sun, thoroughly tired out after our night's marching. There was water at the foot of the plateau and by details we replenished our empty canteens but were forbidden to build any fires to make coffee--besides there was no wood to be had near our position. Shortly after our arrival at Malvern Hill a gill of whiskey was served to each man who wished to take it, also three pieces of hard-tack. I suppose these were a part of commissary stores left behind, for our wagon-train was by this time well on its way to Harrison's Landing on the James river. We rested and slept during the afternoon, until rudely awakened by our batteries beginning to fire on the enemy down in the low ground in our front and near Warren's brigade. A sergeant of the Fourteenth Infantry, who had probably had a little more than his gill and was confused when tardily aroused by the firing, cried out, "Is it possible I'm in the hands of the enemy? I'm a British subject!"

The Rebels advanced some artillery from the woods to a position within eight hundred yards of us and opened fire, some of their shells passing over us, some dropping among Warren's men. By standing up, I could plainly see their batteries out in the field, as well as a large body of infantry at the edge of the woods supporting them. In a few minutes some three dozen of our guns on the plateau were firing at them, making a tremendous uproar, above which we could distinguish the sound of the large guns from the gunboats on the river and the explosion of their enormous shells among the enemy in the woods, the effect of which must have been terrifying. The position of the Rebel batteries and their infantry was invisible to the gunboats owing to intervening woods, so that their fire was directed by signals. The signal corps had built a platform at one of the chimneys on the steep roof of the Malvern House, from which I noticed two men making signals. Whenever one of the great two-hundred-pound shells, fired at great height, rushed through the air, it sounded like a train of cars in motion at high speed and the explosion shook the earth. Some of these shells fell short in the fields in our front; all did not explode--some spun around, threw up dirt and dug holes in which it seemed a horse could have been buried. The well-directed fire of our guns on the edge of the plateau destroyed the Rebel batteries in less than a half hour. Several caissons were blown up, the soldiers abandoned their guns in wild flight, and the infantry disappeared, making no further attempt to molest Warren's brigade on the river road that day.

After a short engagement, in which there were only a few casualties on our side, it remained fairly quiet on the left wing during the evening and throughout the night, and for the first time since leaving our camp at Gaines's Mill we had a night of unbroken rest, wrapped in our blankets. I was so weary that even the certainty of a battle the next day could not keep me awake, and I slept soundly until awakened at daylight.

The morning of July first broke bright and clear, and gave promise of a hot day. The Union Army seemed in excellent spirits; bands could be heard playing patriotic airs in the early morning on various parts of our line; our own band played for a time with a most cheering effect. Our gigantic and genial Drum-Major Lovell whirled his baton joyously and showed no disappointment because his daily prayer to the Lord to send him a million dollars remained unanswered. He hoped, as he explained to us, that some day He would get tired and say, "Let the poor devil have it and not bother me any longer." Later on the Lord was good to him, for he became one of the color sergeants of the regiment and remained in that capacity for eighteen months until the close of the war, without receiving a scratch; and he was the only color bearer in my regiment who served that length of time without death or injury. He remained in the army for many years after the war; but, alas! ended his days in the Soldiers' Home in Washington.

The enemy were massing under cover of the woods all the morning; we caught glimpses of them through some of the clearings. After ten o'clock in the morning they advanced a battery occasionally, feeling different parts of our line, but were always quickly silenced by a concentrated fire from our artillery. Some one of the batteries which we supported kept throwing shells into the woods where the Rebels were supposed to be massing, and the gunboats also fired an occasional shell. This artillery duel went on until about one o'clock in the afternoon, when heavy infantry firing took place toward the center of our line. This went on for some hours, spreading toward the right; then for a time it slackened, only to recommence with renewed vigor after five o'clock when the most desperate efforts were made to break our line, but without success.

During this time all the batteries in our vicinity kept up a tremendous fire, as did Tyler's siege-guns and the gunboats. It was estimated that at times, when nearly all the artillery on both sides were engaged, over two hundred guns were in action. The earth trembled and the roar of the many guns so close to us was deafening. I think it was the heaviest firing which I heard during the war. Again we were in a passive state, in a position prone to the ground to escape the shells from the enemy, unable to fire a shot, as the Rebel infantry made no attack on our part of the line; they deemed our position too strong to be assaulted and did not have artillery enough to make any serious impression.

During this great artillery duel two of the immense shells from the gunboats dropped short and landed among the siege-guns beside us. One of the shells exploded, killing and wounding several men. The gunboat fire was stopped for a time by signal, then recommenced in a different direction. The batteries in our vicinity suffered little loss and in my regiment only two men were wounded during all this firing. About sundown the heavy volleys at the center and right of our line ceased, the attacks of the enemy in masses had been repulsed and they had withdrawn with great loss, without penetrating our line at any point. The batteries we supported ceased firing, but a heavy, desultory infantry fire with occasional cannon shots warned us that the battle was not yet over.

Suddenly we received orders to form ranks and my regiment marched off by the Quaker Road in the direction of the Crew House, near the center of our line and about a mile away. Our band, led by the drum-major, was at the head and, by orders of Captain Poland, began playing. It was the first and the only time during the war that I heard a band play, while a battle was on. We marched as if on parade; the music was inspiring and drew cheers from the troops among which we passed. This was kept up until we turned off the road and some spent balls began to drop among us, when the band ceased playing and fell in behind.

We marched on toward the place we were to occupy and, when near it, we passed a curious little battery which was stationed alongside of a barn. They were busy firing. I had remarked this battery a few times when it passed us on the road, while we were marching up the peninsula. It consisted of a small gun-carriage and limber drawn by two horses; on the gun-carriage was mounted a single steel barrel, somewhat longer and heavier than an ordinary gun-barrel, but of about the same calibre; there was a cranked handle to turn and a hopper to receive cartridges. The soldiers named it the "coffee-mill battery." It really looked like a large coffee-mill mounted on wheels, except for the barrel. It required the services of three men to fire the gun--one to feed cartridges into the hopper, another to raise or depress the barrel and swing it right or left in a quarter-circle and to take aim, while the third man turned the crank which caused the explosion of the charges. I think there were six of these guns, and their pop-pop-pop was quite rapid and continuous as we passed by them. They were the elementary production of the later inventions--the mitrailleuse and gatling guns. They disappeared soon after that from the Army of the Potomac and I never saw them in action again.

When we reached our position along a wide and deep ravine, it was almost dark and objects at some distance could only be distinguished with difficulty. An irresolute fire was opened upon us from the opposite side of the ravine, to which we immediately replied, although all we could see of the foe were the flashes of their guns, which stopped in about ten minutes after which we received the command to cease firing. Half a dozen were wounded in this short engagement, but none killed. We remained silent in our position, awaiting a possible attack, hearing very plainly some of the commands given by the Rebel officers on the opposite side of the dark ravine. From the ravine itself, we heard groans and cries of wounded men who were evidently Rebels, for one among them, probably an officer, in his delirium sometimes cried out, "Charge, Ninth Georgia!"

The firing on other parts of the line of battle did not cease entirely for an hour or more, and then the enemy seemed to have retired, leaving us completely victorious. I think it must have been much later than ten o'clock, when the word was quietly passed along the ranks to quit our position and creep back as silently as possible. I did this a part of the way, then went the rest of the distance in a crouching position, until we were halted and re-formed our line. Then we marched a little farther, halted again, and sat on the ground, resting and wondering what these movements meant.

Later, the first sergeant of my company called me and conducted me to the adjutant, who ordered me to make my way to the Malvern house, where one of our lieutenants and a company of our men had been left as a guard at the general hospital, and to inform the officer to hold himself and his men in readiness to rejoin the regiment when it passed during the night or morning. Since we were in the field I had been selected several times for special duties, but I did not like this one in the least. I knew the general direction of the Malvern house, whence we had come, and if I could gain the Quaker Road the rest would be easy. But to reach this road it was necessary to cross some fields and a piece of woods, and it struck me I had a good chance of being shot by some picket, or getting lost and being taken prisoner.

The sky was overcast and the night dark. I made my way cautiously towards the woods and just before reaching them passed over an elevated piece of ground, where evidently one of our batteries had been stationed during the day. I inferred this from a number of dead horses, some with their stiffened legs up in the air, and among them a few dark forms which I knew but too well were the bodies of artillerists. I hurried over this place and gained the edge of the woods--which I dreaded the most on account of pickets, but was not challenged. I halted a moment and listened, thinking I heard the clatter of accoutrements and the heavy tramp of marching men. I knew that this could only be some of our army and felt much relieved.

Presently I was among them on the Quaker Road, for the woods proved to be shallow. These soldiers belonged to another corps and were retreating very reluctantly toward the James river. There was much grumbling among them; they wondered why, after a victory and with a retiring enemy, they were ordered to leave a strong position. We learned later that some of the corps commanders had importuned General McClellan to hold Malvern Hill, but the General ruled against it, giving as his reason the difficulty of supplying the army in that location.

I reached the Malvern house a little before midnight and found a sentinel who directed me to the lieutenant in charge. He was fast asleep. I awakened him and repeated the adjutant's orders. He ordered some of the men to watch the road near the corner of the house and notify him when the regiment appeared. On looking around I saw that the house was brightly lighted and there was much commotion caused by officers and orderlies rushing in and out of General Porter's headquarters; it was also the principal hospital, and in the out-buildings and some tents I could see surgeons attending the wounded and performing amputations by candle-light, while the ground back of the house was covered with wounded soldiers.

I did not tarry long to look at this heart-rending scene, but made my way along the front of the house and the out-houses. I was hungry and was looking around to find something to eat. My haversack was almost empty; and I knew the necessity of saving something for the morrow, as we were not likely to get any rations until we came to our supply trains. As we had not been able to make coffee for some days, I had plenty of that and sugar, but I had no meat and only a few crackers, so I prowled around until I observed a half dozen soldiers near the corner of a fence where there was a heap of boxes and barrels, which proved to be commissary stores left unguarded and probably forgotten. I joined the group and found them dipping their tin cups into a barrel, of which they had knocked in the head, and filling their canteens with what I knew from the odor to be whiskey. This seemed a heaven-sent opportunity and one not to be neglected. I emptied my canteen of water and filled it with whiskey. Some boxes of hard-tack had been opened, from which I filled my haversack. There were still some barrels of whiskey, also barrels of pork, which the group decided it would be unsafe to break open on account of the noise it would make. I dipped my quart cup into the barrel once more and hurried away with it in my hand, returning to the guard with whom I shared its contents. I kept silent regarding my canteen, however. I did not dare tell my comrades where I got the liquor, for fear some of them would become intoxicated; so I was forced to invent a tale of having received it from one of the hospital stewards, who was a friend of mine. I took especial care to guard my canteen with its precious contents, then wrapped myself in my blanket and went to sleep among my comrades.

I was awakened at daylight when our brigade approached. We hurried to the road and waited until the regiment came along, then joined its ranks. Sykes's division was again covering the retreat of the army. The First Brigade, under Colonel Buchannan, formed the rear guard while our brigade immediately preceded them. It was storming, as it generally did after a battle, and the rain soon came down in torrents, wetting us to the skin in a few minutes. It was a cold, chilly rain which lasted all day.

The army had been retreating from a defeated enemy on this road all night, again leaving many of our wounded behind. By the time we reached Haxall's and the bottom-lands, we found the road in a frightful condition. Cut up as it had been by thousands of wagons and artillery, it was now a liquid quagmire from the torrential rain. We tore down fences and crossed fields to avoid some impassable places. We waded through many ditches and small streams, often knee-deep, and had many halts and interruptions, often coming to a halt in a part of the road where it was impossible to sit down for a much-needed rest, unless we should sit in mud nearly a foot deep. My shoes were soon filled with gritty liquid mud which chafed the skin and made marching very painful and distressing. At one time I just saved myself from falling, while crossing a stream, and my rifle slipped from my grasp and was submerged in the muddy water. I doubt if I could have discharged it if I had needed to do so.

I cannot describe our misery and suffering on this day, the seventh of the retreat, and by far the worst of all. We had reached the limit of endurance, weakened as we were by battles, marching and want of food. We had become callous and cared little what became of those who dropped out from exhaustion or of small squads of wounded men who were limping painfully along the road, sometimes being knocked down and crying out in anguish for help. The rule of self-preservation had a deplorable demonstration on this awful day.

Several times we formed line of battle in the fields, ready to repel the enemy who pursued and harassed the rear guard just behind us. Stuart's Rebel cavalry and a light battery of artillery followed us all day and occasionally sent a few shells into our ranks. We also had cavalry with the rear guard who skirmished with the enemy, and a battery of regular artillery which more than once took up a commanding position beside the road and with our cavalry kept the enemy in check. During the forenoon, while at a long halt, I gave Lieutenant McLoughlin, who now commanded my company (and the only company officer present at this time, Lieutenant Kidd having been wounded) a drink of whiskey from my canteen and he declared I had saved his life. He laughed when I explained how I had got it, but remarked that I was lucky not to have been caught. I took a big drink myself which cheered me, wet and shivering as I was; the remainder I doled out to my comrades, as far as it would go, and for that day at least I was the most popular member of the company.

We reached Harrison's Landing while it was still daylight. Although the distance was not more than about eight miles, it had taken us twelve hours to make it owing to the state of the roads, the frequent halts and the forming of line of battle several times during the day. We halted at the edge of an immense wheat field which I think must have been a mile square. Only a small part of this field had been cut and stacked in sheaves. It still rained hard. My bunkie and I decided to put up our shelter tent for the first time in seven days. We gathered a thick layer of the wet sheaves and lay down in our wet clothing, sleeping soundly all night. We could not make any coffee, but were surprised and cheered by an issue of hard-tack and a gill of whiskey during the evening and the promise of some meat on the morrow; which was a great comfort to us in our despondent condition.

Next morning, July third, directly after reveille, a Rebel battery commenced throwing shells into our camp from a hill which overlooked it. We formed line of battle, advanced a short distance and remained under arms until the firing ceased in a short time, the battery being driven away and the hill occupied by a Maine regiment. This was the finish of the seven days' retreat, or "change of base," as General McClellan preferred to name it. No large body of the Rebel Army had followed us from Malvern Hill, where they had received such a crushing blow that they retired within the fortifications of Richmond to recuperate, leaving only small reconnoitering parties to observe us.

After the firing had ceased and while we were still standing in ranks, a private of my company stepped into the bushes just behind us and presently we heard a shot; and he came running out, holding up a bleeding hand and crying, "I am wounded. Take me to the hospital!" But he ran so fast, it would have been hard to catch him. We found his rifle in the bushes, apparently just discharged, which left no doubt that this was a case of self-mutilation, fortunately of rare occurrence, so far as I knew; but I heard of a few cases where the mutilation took place during battle. This soldier never rejoined his company, which was well for him. The fear of the contempt of his comrades is even more powerful a factor than discipline in keeping a timid or nerveless soldier in the ranks during battle.

As we looked at each other while in ranks, we were amazed at the shocking appearance both officers and rank and file presented after the strenuous week we had passed through. Our clothing was torn and shapeless and coated with sticky mud from head to foot; our faces and hands were grimy with powder and dirt, for few had had opportunity to wash themselves for a week. Several who were slightly wounded wore bandages. Our guns were rusty but serviceable. Some had lost their knapsacks and some a part of their accoutrements, and upon all the faces there was a gaunt and weary look which plainly told the story of our endurance. Of the great field of wheat which I had seen the evening before, scarcely any remained that had not been trampled down during the night by soldiers and horses.

The rain had ceased, but the sky was still clouded and the day cheerless. During the forenoon we marched to a point within about a mile and a half of Harrison's Landing and the brigade encamped on low ground on the border of a sluggish and boggy creek, where we were destined to remain for many weeks sweltering under the great heat of the summer.

The first advance upon Richmond had failed, as did also the second under General Grant two years later, when he operated on substantially the same ground against the same enemy reduced in number and resources. Military writers and historians have accused General McClellan of grave errors in the Peninsula Campaign; but some of them accuse the Administration at Washington, together with the Joint Committee of Congress on the conduct of the war, of graver errors and blame them as being the real cause for the unsuccessful termination of this campaign. That the Army of the Potomac, made up of as fine and intelligent soldiers as ever took the field, remained as true and loyal to its commander after this campaign as it had been before, proved beyond question that it had not lost confidence in him.

The "retreat" to the James river was not a retreat in the usual sense of the word; we kept our formation, all our movements were directed by General McClellan and there never was a rout. We fought daily battles in all of which, except that of Gaines's Mill, we were successful in checking the enemy and keeping them at bay until a new position was gained. We lost none of our artillery, except in battle, and we saved all of our heavy siege guns and our immense wagon-train preceded the army. All this was done in an unknown, swampy country with few roads upon which a great army could march and make any rapid progress, even if unpursued by a determined enemy. The enemy's losses in the seven days' battles were greater than ours by nearly four thousand men, according to authorities.

The battle of Gaines's Mill, although not ranking as one of the great battles of the war, was remarkable, being the one with the greatest disparity in numbers. When the battle commenced General Porter had only the Fifth Army Corps, consisting of less than twenty thousand men, to oppose double their number, and it was not until late in the afternoon that Slocum's division of seven thousand reinforced him. For four hours the powerful enemy tried in vain to break our lines and it was not until near sundown that, reinforced by General Jackson's troops, augmenting their numbers to more than sixty-five thousand, against our less than thirty thousand actually engaged, they succeeded in breaking our line in the center; and when darkness ended the battle they had only advanced as far as the ground previously occupied by our reserves. The losses of the Fifth Army Corps during the seven days were about seventy-six hundred, of whom forty-eight hundred were killed and wounded and twenty-eight hundred captured or missing. My battalion, consisting of six companies of the Second United States Infantry, about three hundred and fifty present for duty, lost two officers who were killed and four wounded; fourteen soldiers killed, one hundred and three wounded, and sixteen captured or missing--total, one hundred and thirty-nine, more than one-third of our number.

I had no clear idea at the time of the distance the army had covered during the seven days' retreat and I was astonished when twenty years later I made the trip with a friend from Richmond to Haxall's, following the route of the army in a single day, and had sufficient time to take a number of photographs. We had a carriage and a pair of good horses. The coachman was black, but his name was White. We remained on Malvern Hill until dark, when we went to Haxall's to spend the night, much to the relief of Charlie White, who showed great terror as we passed through the dark and gloomy woods on our route which he said were full of ghosts. He declared that "sodjer ghosts" marched on this road until daylight.

In my narration of events which occurred during McClellan's Peninsular Campaign I have tried to describe in detail a soldier's experience in camp, on the march, in battle and when retreating before a pursuing foe, as accurately as my memory permits after an interval of more than fifty years. I consider that campaign unsurpassed in hardship, suffering and endurance by any subsequent campaign while I was in the Army of the Potomac, unless perhaps it be the battle of Fredericksburg and General Burnside's "Mud-March," both of which occurred in winter time. I therefore deem it superfluous to burden the remainder of my narrative with similar details.