NOBODY HOME AT YORKTOWN.
THIS, my son, is an exact portrait of the general who sat behind the
great sand heaps at Yorktown, smoking his pipe, and gave our George
so much trouble. George and he had been old friends and playmates at
school, where they had played pitch and toss in a harmless way. So
it is natural to suppose they knew each other's game perfectly well.
George took the hint given him by the old women along the road, and
when he got to Yorktown he saw clear enough that his old friend
Johnston was playing a game of brag with his big sand hills. And to
show Mr. Johnston that he was not to be outdone in that line of art,
George, when he had settled his army down in the soft ground, went
to work satisfying the nation that he could build just as big sand
heaps as any other general. In short, my son, George found himself
in a worse predicament than he was in at Manassas, for his friend
Johnston had a large army, and stronger works than Mr. Beauregard
left behind him. So his army laid down its guns, and took up the
spade, and went largely into the ditching and dyking business. He
made sand heaps bigger than Mr. Johnston's, and stretched them all
the way across the Peninsula, so that there was no getting on either
side of him. And when he had done this he mounted them with the
biggest cannon, which he intended to fire when he got them all up;
so as to make a magnificent display of substantial fire-works, and
in that way frighten Mr. Johnston out of town. So careful was George
not to do his old friend any bodily injury before he got all his
guns mounted, that he would only exchange compliments with him at
morning and evening, when few shells would be tossed backward and
forward, just to preserve what was called the etiquette of war. I
have sometimes thought these compliments were exchanged with the
very best of motives, intended only to change the monotony of camp
life with a little excitement.
When George and his army had toiled hard for nearly a month, had
thrown up a whole mountain of sand hills, and kept on crying for
more soldiers, and had got almost all his guns mounted; and was just
ready to bring Yorktown down about Mr. Johnston's ears, with a grand
display of substantial fireworks, that general made up his mind not
to be served in that way. Nor would he accommodate George by waiting
to see his grand display of fireworks. No, my son, he was not the
man to be caught at a disadvantage, or waste powder unnecessarily.
Some kind friend informed him of George's intentions, so he packed
up his baggage one night, and moved himself off, leaving Yorktown
and his sand hills as a legacy to George, who was very much
disappointed at being treated so shabbily by his old friend and
playmate.
People said General Johnston was a cunning fox, and not to be caught
in any trap our George could set. But George, like the Irishman, had
a deal of pluck, and a big heart, and, above both, a great deal of
chivalry. Now he was anxious that his old friend should not go away
so shabbily, but come back, and either breakfast with him or
accommodate him with a fight. So he sent his rough-riders after him,
and they proceeded at a rapid pace, and came up with him on the
outskirts of Williamsburg, where General Johnston prepared to fight
rather than come to breakfast. There both armies came together, and
a great battle was fought, which lasted two days. There was
desperate fighting on both sides, and a great many were killed and
wounded, and a great many more so badly frightened that they kept
out of the fight, which they held to be a proof of their wisdom.
We gained a great victory over the rebels at Williamsburg, and made
them feel so ashamed of themselves that they resumed their march
backwards on the road to Richmond. And this battle and this victory
attached our good Union soldiers more closely to General George.
Indeed, my son, they loved him, and looked up to him as a dutiful
child does to a kind father. They marched up the Peninsula singing
his praises. And now, my son, let me enjoin you that whenever you
hear the names of Generals Hancock and Kearney mentioned, respect
and revere them, for never was American valor more beautifully
illustrated than by those generals on the field at Williamsburg.
Then General George sent the right wing of his grand army, under
General Franklin, by water, to West Point, where he fought a battle
with General Johnston's rear-guard, and gained another victory. Then
both armies moved leisurely along, up the Peninsula, in a manner not
to make the marching uncomfortable. It rained a great deal, and the
roads were bad, and the enemy resolved not to be hurried. And our
Government, which was not so wise in war matters then as it got to
be in time, was not disposed to do anything that might change
General Johnston's resolution. In fine, our Government seemed to
have quite as big a quarrel with General George as it had with the
rebels, and the politicians held it of more importance to destroy
our own general than the rebel army. The Government was just as fair
as fair could be in making promises to General George. But then the
Government seemed to have a short memory, and forgot its promises
almost as soon as it had made them. It promised to send General
McDowell, who was not far away, to help George fight the rebels and
take Richmond. But the Government forgot to do so; and instead, kept
that gallant officer looking from the hills of Fredericksburg, to
see if the rebels were coming in that direction. To tell you the
truth, my son, our Government was so afraid that the rebels would
turn short around and take Washington, and make prisoners of its
cabinet officers, that it made "look-out generals" of so many brave
officers, who had troops under their command, that it had none to
send General George to assist in taking Richmond. It may however, be
a consolation to us to know that this would not have been the first
time, in the history of the world, that fear had cost a great nation
its fortunes and its glories.
General George marched leisurely along with his brave army until he
came within four miles of Richmond, where there was a great swamp
called the Chickahominy. The name of this swamp will be long
remembered by our brave soldiers of the Army of the Potomac. The
rain fell like a deluge, and flooded it; and it gave out deadly
fevers, which brought death and tribulation on our army. And in this
swamp our army fought the battle of Fair Oaks, and gained another
grand victory over the enemy. But we had no means of following up
this victory, and so its effect was lost to us. Then our army
settled down into this deadly swamp, and wondered and waited for
nearly a month, until our men got heart-sick and fever-stricken. We
watched the enemy on the hills beyond; and the enemy watched us in
the swamp. And we waited until the enemy had brought all his forces
up into Richmond, and General Lee, his best general, had taken
command. Things began to look desperate with our George, and he
began thinking how he should get safely out of the swamp and change
his base. How was he to fight Mr. Lee with all his strength, when
the strength we ought to have sent him was kept at a safe distance
looking on? George saw that the glories of Williamsburg, of West
Point, of Hanover Court House, and of Fair Oaks would have to be
thrown away because the wisdom of the nation would not send us aid.
This, my son, was the day of our tribulation. The people were
strong, and the army represented the people. I wish, my son, that I
could say also that the Government was strong. But the army, if it
was sick, had not lost its courage, nor its love for the general who
commanded it.
General Lee then came out with his strong and powerful army and
fought us at Gaines's Mill, where he beat us after a desperate
battle. We might as well confess that we were beaten, and badly
beaten, in that battle; and that we had to make the best we could of
our defeat, and get across the Chickahominy Swamp as quick as we
could, and turn our backs on it forever, for we had filled it with
the graves of our brave soldiers. George was sanguine, had great
confidence in the endurance of his army, and looked forward to the
future with faith and hope. He did not want to acknowledge that he
was beaten at Gaines's Mill; but the nation made up its mind that he
was. Indeed, the nation could not comprehend the principle of
generalship that claimed a victory, and at the same time made a
change of base necessary in the face of an advancing enemy. But
George got his army safe across the Chickahominy, though in some
confusion, and instead of driving the enemy to the wall, as he had
promised us he would do, the enemy began driving him to the James
River.
Like the Irishman who had twice got his head broken, but was
unwilling to say he was beaten, George continued to show General Lee
that our army was still full of pluck.
So he turned round and thrashed the enemy right soundly at Savage's
Station, at White Oak Swamp, and at Malvern Hill--just to show that
he could do it. These are places, my son, you shall read of in
history. And the glories of the battles fought at them shall become
brighter and brighter as we contemplate them; and new lustre will
shed on the names of the officers who fought them, and set such
noble examples of courage to their men. It was George's misfortune
that he fought these battles and gained these victories while his
army was moving backward instead of forward--while seeking a place of
safety instead of driving the enemy to seek one. This makes a great
difference with the public, which does not generally study the rules
of strategy, and does not like to see an army fall back after it has
gained what its commander claims to be a great victory.