GLENDALE AND MALVERN HILLS
Captain de Banyan was as cool and indifferent to danger as though he had
been shot-proof. Cannon-balls and shell flew through the air; but the
veteran paid no attention to them--except that once in a while they
reminded him of Magenta, or some other of the numerous battle-fields
where he had displayed his valor. There was little fighting for our
regiment at this point, though there was a sharp action on the right of
the position.
The rebels attacked our forces with tremendous vigor at Savage's Station.
It was believed by their generals that the Union army was utterly
demoralized; that it was retreating in disorder towards the James River;
and that a vigorous onslaught would result in its capture. The first
intimation of the blunder was received at Savage's Station, where the
Confederates were decisively repulsed; yet the hope was not abandoned of
ending the war by the destruction of the Army of the Potomac. The hosts
of the rebellion were poured down the roads, where they could intercept
the loyal forces; and the full extent of their blunder was realized only
at Malvern Hills.
At noon our regiment marched through White Oak Swamp, and late in the
evening bivouacked in a field near the road. During all this time the
road was filled with troops, and with trains of army wagons on their way
to the new "base." Very early the next morning, the march was resumed. It
was an exceedingly hot day, and the troops suffered severely from the
heat. Somers was nearly exhausted when the regiment halted at noon near a
church, which the surgeons had already occupied as a hospital. But
nothing could disturb the equanimity of Captain de Banyan. If an
opportunity offered, he rested, and went to sleep amid the screaming
shells as readily as though he had been in his chamber in the "Fifth
Avenue." It was not quite so hot as it was at Magenta, nor the march
quite so severe as before Solferino, nor the shot quite so thick as at
Chapultepec. He never grumbled himself, and never permitted any one else
to do so. If Somers ventured to suggest that events were rather hard upon
him, he wondered what he would have done if he had been at Magenta,
Solferino, Balaclava, or Chapultepec.
Somers was disposed to make the best of the circumstances; and though
hungry, tired and nearly melted, he sustained himself with unfaltering
courage amid the trials of that eventful march. All day long, the tide of
army wagons and cattle flowed down the road; and the brigade remained
near the church at Glendale, waiting for them to pass. At dark the order
was given to move forward, while the roar of cannon and musketry
reverberated on the evening air, assuring the weary veterans that the
baptism of blood was at hand for them, as it had been before for their
comrades in arms.
The regiment followed a narrow road through the woods, which was thronged
with the _débris_ of the conflict, hurled back by the fierce assaults of
the rebels. The cowardly skulkers and the noncombatants of the engaged
regiments were here with their tale of disaster and ruin; and, judging
from the mournful stories they told, the once proud Army of the Potomac
had been utterly routed and discomfited. Cowards with one bar, cowards
with two bars, cowards with no bar, and cowards with the eagle on their
shoulders, repeated the wail of disaster; and the timid would have shrunk
from the fiery ordeal before them, if the intrepid officers and the mass
of the rank and file had not been above the influence of the poltroons'
trembling tones and quaking limbs.
"Forward, my brave boys! I've been waiting all my lifetime for such a
scene as this!" shouted Captain de Banyan, as he flourished his sword
after the most approved style.
"Don't mind the cowards!" said Somers, as the stragglers poured out their
howls of terror.
There was little need of these stirring exhortations; for the men were as
eager for the fight as the officers, and laughed with genuine glee at the
pitiful aspect of the runaways. They advanced in line of battle to the
support of the hard-pressed troops in front of them, and poured a
withering fire into the enemy. With that fiendish yell which the Southern
soldiers invariably use in the hour of battle, they rushed forward with a
fury which was madness, and into which no fear of death entered.
"They are coming!" shouted Somers, as the legions of rebellion surged
down upon the line, yelling like so many demons, as though they expected
the veterans to be vanquished by mere noise. "Stand steady, my men!"
"That reminds me of the Russian advance at Magenta," said Captain de
Banyan, who happened to pass near the spot where Somers stood.
"The Austrians, you mean," replied Somers, trying to keep as cool and
unmoved as his companion.
"Excuse me; I meant the Austrians," replied the captain. "The fact
is----Forward, my brave fellows!" roared he as the order came down the
line.
The enemy had been temporarily checked, and the brigade advanced to
pursue the advantage gained. They poured another terrible volley into the
rebels; when a regiment of the latter, infuriated by whiskey and the
fierce goadings of their officers, rushed down with irresistible force
upon a portion of the Union line, and succeeded in making a partial break
in our regiment. The only remaining line officer in one of the companies
where the rupture occurred was wounded at this critical moment, and borne
under the feet of the excited combatants.
"Lieutenant Somers, take command of that company!" shouted the colonel,
as he dashed towards the imperiled portion of the line.
Somers made haste to obey the order when the line was giving way before
the impetuous charge. He felt that the safety of the whole army depended
upon himself at that momentous instant, and that on the salvation of the
army rested the destiny of his country. What was the life of a single
man, of a hundred thousand even, compared with the fearful issue of that
moment? It was the feeling of the young soldier, and he was ready to lay
down his life for the flag which symbolized the true glory of the nation.
"Rally round me!" he cried, as he discharged his revolver into the breast
of a brave captain who was urging his company forward with the most
unflinching resolution. "Down with them!" he shouted, as he waved his
sword above his head.
"Hurrah!" roared a brave sergeant near him, and the cry was taken up by
the gallant fellows who had been pressed back by sheer force of numbers.
"Forward!" shouted Somers, as he dashed down a bayonet, which would have
transfixed him on the spot if he had not been on the alert.
The men rallied, and stood boldly up to the work before them. They were
inspired by the example of the young lieutenant; and the rebel regiment
slowly and doggedly retired, leaving many of their number dead or wounded
on the field, and a small number as prisoners in the hands of Somers's
new command.
After alternate repulses and successes, the rebels were signally defeated
and driven back. It was a sharp and decisive struggle; but again had the
army been saved from destruction, and the long line of army wagons still
pursued its way in safety towards the waters of the James.
Again had the rebel general's brilliant calculation failed. His troops,
maddened by the fires of the whiskey demon, had done all that men or
fiends could do; but the trained valor of the Army of the Potomac had
again saved the country. Onward it marched towards the goal of safety
under the sheltering wings of the gunboat fleet in the river.
All night long the men marched, with frequent intervals of rest, as the
movements of the army trains required them. There was no sleep, even
after that hard-fought battle; no real rest from the exciting and wearing
events of the day. There was little or no food to be had; and the
fainting soldiers, though still ready to fight and march in their
weakness, longed for the repose of a few hours in camp. But not yet was
the boon to be granted. On the following morning, our regiment arrived at
Malvern Hills, where they were again formed in line of battle, in
readiness to receive the menacing hosts of the rebels.
"We are all right now, Somers," said Captain de Banyan while they were
waiting for the onset.
"Not quite yet, captain. Don't you see those signal-flags on the houses
yonder?"
"They mean something, of course. I did not intend to say there will be no
fighting; only, that we have a good position, and all the rebels in the
Confederacy can't start us now."
"Those flags indicate that the rebels are moving."
"Let them come; the sooner the better, and the sooner it will be over.
Hurrah!" exclaimed the captain, as the inspiring strains of the band in
the rear saluted his ears.
Cheer after cheer passed along the extended lines as the notes of the
"Star-spangled Banner" thrilled the hearts of the weary, fainting
soldiers. The bands had not been heard during the operations in front of
Richmond; and their music, as Sergeant Hapgood expressed it, "sounded
like home."
"That does me good, Somers," continued the captain. "There's nothing like
music for the nerves. It wakes men up, and makes them forget all their
troubles. Forward, the light brigade!" he added, flourishing his sword in
the air. "I suppose you know that poem, Somers?"
"Of course; I know it by heart; read it in school the last day I ever
went."
"Did you, indeed?"
"Nothing very singular about that, is there?"
"Rather a remarkable coincidence, I should say," replied the captain with
easy indifference, as he twirled his sword on the ground.
"I don't see it."
"You read the poem at school, and I was in that charge."
"You?"
"Yes, my boy. I was a captain in that brigade. But what called the
circumstance to my mind was the music which struck up just now. I had a
bugler in my company who played 'Hail, Columbia' during the whole of the
fight."
"'Hail, Columbia?'" demanded Somers.
"Certainly; the fellow had a fancy for that tune; and though it wasn't
exactly a national thing to the British army, he always played it when he
got a chance. Well, sir, I think that bugler did more than any other man
in the charge of the light brigade. He never lost a note, and it fired
the men up to the pitch of frenzy."
"He was a brave fellow," replied Somers languidly; for he was too
thoroughly worn out to appreciate the stories of his veteran companion.
"He was the most determined man I ever met in my life. He was killed in
the charge, poor fellow; but he had filled his bugle so full of wind,
that the music did not cease till full five minutes after he was
stone-dead."
"Come, come, captain! that's a little too bad," said Somers seriously.
"Too bad? Well, I should not be willing to take oath that the time was
just five minutes after the bugler died. I did not take out my watch, and
time it; and, of course, I can only give you my judgment as to the
precise number of minutes."
"You are worse than Baron Munchausen, who told a story something like
that; only his was the more reasonable of the two."
"Somers, my boy! you have got a villainously bad habit of discrediting
the statements of a brother-officer and a gentleman," said Captain de
Banyan seriously.
"And you have got a bad habit of telling the most abominable stories that
ever proceeded from the mouth of any man."
"We'll drop the subject, Somers; for such discussions lead to unpleasant
results. Do you see that rebel battery?" added the captain, pointing to a
road a mile off, where the enemy had taken position to shell the Union
line.
"I see it."
The rebel battery opened fire, which was vigorously answered by the other
side. The scene began to increase in interest as the cannonade extended
along the whole line; and, through the entire day, there raged the most
furious artillery conflict of the war. The rebel masses were hurled time
after time against the Union line; but it maintained its position like a
wall of iron, while thousands of the enemy were recklessly sacrificed in
the useless assault. General M---- had probably drunk more than his usual
quantity of whiskey; and, though he was as brave as a lion, hundreds of
his men paid the penalty with their lives of his rashness and
indiscretion.
Night came again upon a victorious field, while hundreds of weeping
mothers in the neighboring city sighed for the sons who would return no
more to their arms; and while mothers wept, fathers groaned and sisters
moaned, the grand army of the Confederacy had been beaten, and the proud
rulers of an infatuated people were trembling for their own safety in the
presence of the ruin with which defeat threatened them.
After the battle commenced the movement of the Army of the Potomac down
the river to Harrison's Landing. The rain fell in torrents, and the
single road was crowded with troops and wagons. Though the exhausted
soldiers slept, even while the guns of the enemy roared in front of them,
and during the brief halts which the confusion in the road caused, there
was no real repose. The excitement of the battle and the retreat, and the
undefinable sense of insecurity which their situation engendered,
banished rest. Tired Nature asserted her claims, and the men yielded to
them only when endurance had reached its utmost limit.
At Harrison's Landing, the work of intrenching the position was
immediately commenced; and it was some days before the army were entirely
assured that defeat and capture were not still possible. The failure of
the campaign was not without its effect upon the troops. They felt, that,
instead of marching under their victorious banners into the enemy's
capital, they had been driven from their position. It was not disaster,
but it was failure. Though the soldiers were still in good condition, and
as ready as ever to breast the storm of battle, they were in a measure
dispirited by the misfortune.
General McClellan and General Lee had each failed to accomplish his
purpose. It was the intention of the latter to send Stonewall Jackson
into the rear of the Union army, cut it off from its base of supplies,
and then attack in front and on the left. The plan was defeated by
General McClellan's change of base, which was forced upon him by the
cutting-off of his communications with the Pamunkey River. The Union
generals, who were first attacked on the right, supposed they were
confronted by Jackson, who had come down to flank them in this direction;
while Lee intended that he should attack farther down the Peninsula. Each
commanding general, to some extent, mistook the purpose of the other.
Whatever errors were made by the grand players in this mighty game, about
one thing there can be no mistake--that the courage and fortitude of the
rank and file saved the Army of the Potomac, and pushed aside the mighty
disaster in which its ruin would have involved the country. All honor to
the unnamed heroes who fought those great battles, and endured hardships
which shall thrill the souls of Americans for ages to come!