TWO DAYS OF BATTLE.
The Confederates had been waiting two months for McClellan's advance.
Emboldened by his delay they had gathered the whole of their available
strength from remote Tennessee, from the Mississippi, and from the
coast, until, confident and powerful, they crossed Meadow Bridge on the
26th of June, 1862, and drove in our right wing at Mechanicsville. The
reserves of Gen. McCall were stationed here; they made a wavering
resistance,--wherein four companies of Bucktails were captured
bodily,--and fell back at nightfall upon Porter's Corps, at Gaines's
Mill. Fitz John Porter commanded the brigades of Gens. Sykes and
Morrell,--the former made up solely of regulars. He appeared to have
been ignorant of the strength of the attacking party, and he telegraphed
to McClellan, early on Thursday evening, that he required no
reinforcements, and that he could hold his ground. The next morning he
was attacked in front and flank; Stewart's cavalry fell on his right,
and turned it at Old Church. He formed at noon in new line of battle,
from Gaines's House, along the Mill Road to New Coal Harbor; but
stubbornly persisted in the belief that he could not be beaten. By three
o'clock he had been driven back two miles, and all his energies were
unavailing to recover a foot of ground. He hurled lancers and cavalry
upon the masses of Jackson and the Hills, but the butternut infantry
formed impenetrable squares, hemmed in with rods of steel, and as the
horsemen galloped around them, searching for previous points, they were
swept from their saddles with volleys of musketry. He directed the
terrible fire of his artillery upon them, but though the gray footmen
fell in heaps, they steadily advanced, closing up the gaps, and their
lines were like long stretches of blaze and ball. Their fire never
slackened nor abated. They loaded and moved forward, column on column,
like so many immortals that could not be vanquished. The scene from the
balloon, as Lowe informed me, was awful beyond all comparison,--of
puffing shells and shrieking shrapnel, with volleys that shattered the
hills and filled the air with deathly whispers. Infantry, artillery, and
horse turned the Federal right from time to time, and to preserve their
order of battle the whole line fell back toward Grapevine Bridge. At
five o'clock Slocum's Division of volunteers crossed the creek from the
south side, and made a desperate dash upon the solid columns of the
Confederates. At the same time Toombs's Georgia Brigade charged Smith's
redoubt from the south side, and there was a probability of the whole of
both armies engaging before dark.
My fever of body had so much relinquished to my fever of mind, that at
three o'clock I called for my horse, and determined to cross the bridge,
that I might witness the battle.
It was with difficulty that I could make my way along the narrow
corduroy, for hundreds of wounded were limping from the field to the
safe side, and ammunition wagons were passing the other way, driven by
reckless drivers who should have been blown up momentarily. Before I had
reached the north side of the creek, an immense throng of panic-stricken
people came surging down the slippery bridge. A few carried muskets, but
I saw several wantonly throw their pieces into the flood, and as the
mass were unarmed, I inferred that they had made similar dispositions.
Fear, anguish, cowardice, despair, disgust, were the predominant
expressions of the upturned faces. The gaunt trees, towering from the
current, cast a solemn shadow upon the moving throng, and as the evening
dimness was falling around them, it almost seemed that they were
engulfed in some cataract. I reined my horse close to the side of a
team, that I might not be borne backward by the crowd; but some of the
lawless fugitives seized him by the bridle, and others attempted to pull
me from the saddle.
"Gi' up that hoss!" said one, "what business you got wi' a hoss?"
"That's my critter, and I am in for a ride; so you get off!" said
another.
I spurred my pony vigorously with the left foot, and with the right
struck the man at the bridle under the chin. The thick column parted
left and right, and though a howl of hate pursued me, I kept straight to
the bank, cleared the swamp, and took the military route parallel with
the creek, toward the nearest eminence. At every step of the way I met
wounded persons. A horseman rode past me, leaning over his pommel, with
blood streaming from his mouth and hanging in gouts from his saturated
beard. The day had been intensely hot and black boys were besetting the
wounded with buckets of cool lemonade. It was a common occurrence for
the couples that carried the wounded on stretchers to stop on the way,
purchase a glass of the beverage, and drink it. Sometimes the blankets
on the stretchers were closely folded, and then I knew that the man
within was dead. A little fellow, who used his sword for a cane, stopped
me on the road, and said--
"See yer! This is the ball that jes' fell out o' my boot."
He handed me a lump of lead as big as my thumb, and pointed to a rent in
his pantaloons, whence the drops rolled down his boots.
"I wouldn't part with that for suthin' handsome," he said; "it'll be
nice to hev to hum."
As I cantered away he shouted after me--
"Be sure you spell my name right! it's Smith, with an 'E'--S-M-I-T-H-E."
In one place I met five drunken men escorting a wounded sergeant; the
latter had been shot in the jaw, and when he attempted to speak, the
blood choked his articulation.
"You let go him, pardner," said one of the staggering brutes, "he's not
your sergeant. Go 'way!"
"Now, sergeant," said the other, idiotically, "I'll see you all right,
sergeant. Come, Bill, fetch him over to the corn-crib and we'll give him
a drink."
Here the first speaker struck the second, and the sergeant, in wrath,
knocked them both down. All this time the enemy's cannon were booming
close at hand.
I came to an officer of rank, whose shoulder-emblem I could not
distinguish, riding upon a limping field-horse. Four men held him to his
seat, and a fifth led the animal. The officer was evidently wounded,
though he did not seem to be bleeding, and the dust of battle had
settled upon his blanched, stiffening face, like grave-mould upon a
corpse. He was swaying in the saddle, and his hair--for he was
bare-headed--shook across his white eyeballs. He reminded me of the
famous Cid, whose body was sent forth to scare the Saracens.
A mile or more from Grapevine Bridge, on a hill-top, lay a frame
farm-house, with cherry trees encircling it, and along the declivity of
the hill were some cabins, corn-sheds, and corn-bins. The house was now
a Surgeon's headquarters, and the wounded lay in the yard and lane,
under the shade, waiting their turns to be hacked and maimed. I caught a
glimpse through the door, of the butchers and their victims; some
curious people were peeping through the windows at the operation. As the
processions of freshly wounded went by, the poor fellows, lying on their
backs, looked mutely at me, and their great eyes smote my heart.
Something has been written in the course of the war upon straggling
from the ranks, during battle. But I have seen nothing that conveys an
adequate idea of the number of cowards and idlers that so stroll off. In
this instance, I met squads, companies, almost regiments of them. Some
came boldly along the road; others skulked in woods, and made long
detours to escape detection; a few were composedly playing cards, or
heating their coffee, or discussing the order and consequences of the
fight. The rolling drums, the constant clatter of file and
volley-firing,--nothing could remind them of the requirements of the
time and their own infamy. Their appreciation of duty and honor seemed
to have been forgotten; neither hate, ambition, nor patriotism could
force them back; but when the columns of mounted provosts charged upon
them, they sullenly resumed their muskets and returned to the field. At
the foot of the hill to which I have referred the ammunition wagons lay
in long lines, with the horses' heads turned from the fight. A little
beyond stood the ambulances; and between both sets of vehicles,
fatigue-parties were going and returning to and from the field. At the
top of the next hill sat many of the Federal batteries, and I was
admonished by the shriek of shells that passed over my head and burst
far behind me, that I was again to look upon carnage and share the
perils of the soldier.
The question at once occurred to me: Can I stand fire? Having for some
months penned daily paragraphs relative to death, courage, and victory,
I was surprised to find that those words were now unusually significant.
"Death" was a syllable to me before; it was a whole dictionary now.
"Courage" was natural to every man a week ago; it was rarer than genius
to-day. "Victory" was the first word in the lexicon of youth yesterday
noon; "discretion" and "safety" were at present of infinitely more
consequence. I resolved, notwithstanding these qualms, to venture to the
hill-top: but at every step flitting projectiles took my breath. The
music of the battle-field, I have often thought, should be introduced
in opera. Not the drum, the bugle, or the fife, though these are
thrilling, after their fashion; but the music of modern ordnance and
projectile, the beautiful whistle of the minie-ball, the howl of shell
that makes unearthly havoc with the air, the whiz-z-z of solid shot, the
chirp of bullets, the scream of grape and canister, the yell of immense
conical cylinders, that fall like redhot stoves and spout burning coals.
All these passed over, beside, beneath, before, behind me. I seemed to
be an invulnerable something at whom some cunning juggler was tossing
steel, with an intent to impinge upon, not to strike him. I rode like
one with his life in his hand, and, so far as I remember, seemed to
think of nothing. No fear, _per se_; no regret; no adventure; only
expectancy. It was the expectancy of a shot, a choking, a loud cry, a
stiffening, a dead, dull tumble, a quiver, and--blindness. But with this
was mingled a sort of enjoyment, like that of the daring gamester, who
has played his soul and is waiting for the decision of the cards. I felt
all his suspense, _more_ than his hope; and withal, there was excitement
in the play. Now a whistling ball seemed to pass just under my ear, and
before I commenced to congratulate myself upon the escape, a shell, with
a showery and revolving fuse, appeared to take the top off my head. Then
my heart expanded and contracted, and somehow I found myself conning
rhymes. At each clipping ball,--for I could hear them coming,--a sort of
coldness and paleness rose to the very roots of my hair, and was then
replaced by a hot flush. I caught myself laughing, syllabically, and
shrugging my shoulders, fitfully. Once, the rhyme that came to my
lips--for I am sure there was no mind in the iteration--was the simple
nursery prayer--
"Now I lay me down to sleep,"
I continued to say "down to sleep," "down to sleep," "down to sleep,"
till I discovered myself, when I ceased. Then a shell, apparently just
in range, dashed toward me, and the words spasmodically leaped up:
"Now's your time. This is your billet." With the same insane pertinacity
I continued to repeat "Now's your time, now's your time," and "billet,
billet, billet," till at last I came up to the nearest battery, where I
could look over the crest of the hill; and as if I had looked into the
crater of a volcano, or down the fabled abyss into hell, the whole grand
horror of a battle burst upon my sight. For a moment I could neither
feel nor think. I scarcely beheld, or beholding did not understand or
perceive. Only the roar of guns, the blaze that flashed along a zigzag
line and was straightway smothered in smoke, the creek lying glassily
beneath me, the gathering twilight, and the brownish blue of woods! I
only knew that some thousands of fiends, were playing with fire and
tossing brands at heaven,--that some pleasant slopes, dells, and
highlands were lit as if the conflagration of universes had commenced.
There is a passage of Holy Writ that comes to my mind as I write, which
explains the sensation of the time better than I can do:--
"_He opened the bottomless pit; and there arose a smoke out of the pit,
as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened
by reason of the smoke of the pit._
"_And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth._"--Revelation,
ix. 2, 3.
In a few moments, when I was able to compose myself, the veil of cloud
blew away or dissolved, and I could see fragments of the long columns of
infantry. Then from the far end of the lines puffed smoke, and from man
to man the puff ran down each line, enveloping the columns again, so
that they were alternately visible and invisible. At points between the
masses of infantry lay field-pieces, throbbing with rapid deliveries,
and emitting volumes of white steam. Now and then the firing slackened
for a short time, when I could remark the Federal line, fringed with
bayonets, stretching from the low meadow on the left, up the slope, over
the ridge, up and down the crest, until its right disappeared in the
gloaming of wood and distance. Standards flapped here and there above
the column, and I knew, from the fact that the line became momentarily
more distinct, that the Federals were falling stubbornly back. At times
a battery would dash a hundred yards forward, unlimber, and fire a score
of times, and directly would return two hundred yards and blaze again. I
saw a regiment of lancers gather at the foot of a protecting swell of
field; the bugle rang thrice, the red pennons went upward like so many
song birds, the mass turned the crest and disappeared, then the whole
artillery belched and bellowed. In twenty minutes a broken, straggling,
feeble group of horsemen returned; the red pennons still fluttered, but
I knew that they were redder for the blood that dyed them. Finally, the
Federal infantry fell back to the foot of the hill on which I stood; all
the batteries were clustering around me, and suddenly a column of men
shot up from the long sweep of the abandoned hill, with batteries on the
left and right. Their muskets were turned towards us, a crash and a
whiff of smoke swept from flank to flank, and the air around me rained
buck, slug, bullet, and ball!
The incidents that now occurred in rapid succession were so thrilling
and absorbing that my solicitude was lost in their grandeur. I sat like
one dumb, with my soul in my eyes and my ears stunned, watching the
terrible column of Confederates. Each party was now straining every
energy,--the one for victory, the other against annihilation. The
darkness was closing in, and neither cared to prolong the contest after
night. The Confederates, therefore, aimed to finish their success with
the rout or capture of the Federals, and the Federals aimed to maintain
their ground till nightfall. The musketry was close, accurate, and
uninterrupted. Every second was marked by a discharge,--the one firing,
the other replying promptly. No attempt was now made to remove the
wounded; the coolness of the fight had gone by, and we witnessed only
its fury. The stragglers seemed to appreciate the desperate emergency,
and came voluntarily back to relieve their comrades. The cavalry was
massed, and collected for another grand charge. Like a black shadow
gliding up the darkening hillside, they precipitated themselves upon the
columns: the musketry ceased for the time, and shrieks, steel strokes,
the crack of carbines and revolvers succeeded. Shattered, humiliated,
sullen, the horse wheeled and returned. Then the guns thundered again,
and by the blaze of the pieces, the clods and turf were revealed,
fitfully strewn with men and horses.
The vicinity of my position now exhibited traces of the battle. A
caisson burst close by, and I heard the howl of dying wretches, as the
fires flashed like meteors. A solid shot struck a field-carriage not
thirty yards from my feet, and one of the flying splinters spitted a
gunner as if he had been pierced by an arrow. An artillery-man was
standing with folded arms so near that I could have reached to touch
him; a whistle and a thumping shock and he fell beneath my nag's head. I
wonder, as I calmly recall these episodes now, how I escaped the death
that played about me, chilled me, thrilled me,--but spared me! "They are
fixing bayonets for a charge. My God! See them come down the hill."
In the gathering darkness, through the thick smoke, I saw or seemed to
see the interminable column roll steadily downward. I fancied that I
beheld great gaps cut in their ranks though closing solidly up, like the
imperishable Gorgon. I may have heard some of this next day, and so
confounded the testimonies of eye and ear. But I knew that there was a
charge, and that the drivers were ordered to stand by their saddles, to
run off the guns at any moment. The descent and bottom below me, were
now all ablaze, and directly above the din of cannon, rifle, and
pistol, I heard a great cheer, as of some salvation achieved.
"The Rebels are repulsed! We have saved the guns!"
A cheer greeted this announcement from the battery-men around me. They
reloaded, rammed, swabbed, and fired, with naked arms, and drops of
sweat furrowed the powder-stains upon their faces. The horses stood
motionless, quivering not half so much as the pieces. The gristly
officers held to their match-strings, smothering the excitement of the
time. All at once there was a running hither and thither, a pause in the
thunder, a quick consultation--
"'Sdeath! They have flanked us again."
In an instant I seemed overwhelmed with men. For a moment I thought the
enemy had surrounded us.
"It's all up," said one; "I shall cross the river."
I wheeled my horse, fell in with the stream of fugitives, and was borne
swiftly through field and lane and trampled fence to the swampy margin
of the Chickahominy. At every step the shell fell in and among the
fugitives, adding to their panic. I saw officers who had forgotten their
regiments or had been deserted by them, wending with the mass. The
wounded fell and were trodden upon. Personal exhibitions of valor and
determination there were; but the main body had lost heart, and were
weary and hungry.
As we approached the bridge, there was confusion and altercation ahead.
The people were borne back upon me. Curses and threats ensued.
"It is the Provost-guard," said a fugitive, "driving back the boys."
"Go back!" called a voice ahead. "I'll blow you to h--ll, if you don't
go back! Not a man shall cross the bridge without orders!"
The stragglers were variously affected by this intelligence. Some cursed
and threatened; some of the wounded blubbered as they leaned languidly
upon the shoulders of their comrades. Others stoically threw themselves
on the ground and tried to sleep. One man called aloud that the "boys"
were stronger than the Provosts, and that, therefore, the "boys" ought
to "go in and win."
"Where's the man that wants to mutiny?" said the voice ahead; "let me
see him!"
The man slipped away; for the Provost officer spoke as though he meant
all he said.
"Nobody wants to mutiny!" called others.
"Three cheers for the Union."
The wounded and well threw up their hats together, and made a sickly
hurrah. The grim officer relented, and he shouted stentoriously that he
would take the responsibility of passing the wounded. These gathered
themselves up and pushed through the throng; but many skulkers plead
injuries, and so escaped. When I attempted to follow, on horseback,
hands were laid upon me and I was refused exit. In that hour of terror
and sadness, there were yet jests and loud laughter. However keenly I
felt these things, I had learned that modesty amounted to little in the
army; so I pushed my nag steadily forward and scattered the camp
vernacular, in the shape of imprecations, left and right.
"Colonel," I called to the officer in command, as the line of bayonets
edged me in, "may I pass out? I am a civilian!"
"No!" said the Colonel, wrathfully. "This is no place for a civilian."
"That's why I want to get away."
"Pass out!"
I followed the winding of the woods to Woodbury's Bridge,--the next
above Grapevine Bridge. The approaches were clogged with wagons and
field-pieces, and I understood that some panic-stricken people had
pulled up some of the timbers to prevent a fancied pursuit. Along the
sides of the bridge many of the wounded were washing their wounds in the
water, and the cries of the teamsters echoed weirdly through the trees
that grew in the river. At nine o'clock, we got under way,--horsemen,
batteries, ambulances, ammunition teams, infantry, and finally some
great siege 32s. that had been hauled from Gaines's House. One of these
pieces broke down the timbers again, and my impression is that it was
cast into the current. When we emerged from the swamp timber, the hills
before us were found brilliantly illuminated with burning camps. I made
toward head-quarters, in one of Trent's fields; but all the tents save
one had been taken down, and lines of white-covered wagons stretched
southward until they were lost in the shadows. The tent of General
McClellan alone remained, and beneath an arbor of pine boughs, close at
hand, he sat, with his Corps Commanders and Aides, holding a council of
war. A ruddy fire lit up the historical group, and I thought at the
time, as I have said a hundred times since, that the consultation might
be selected for a grand national painting. The crisis, the hour, the
adjuncts, the renowned participants, peculiarly fit it for pictorial
commemoration.
The young commander sat in a chair, in full uniform, uncovered.
Heintzelman was kneeling upon a fagot, earnestly speaking. De Joinville
sat apart, by the fire, examining a map. Fitz John Porter was standing
back of McClellan, leaning upon his chair. Keyes, Franklin, and Sumner,
were listening attentively. Some sentries paced to and fro, to keep out
vulgar curiosity. Suddenly, there was a nodding of heads, as of some
policy decided; they threw themselves upon their steeds, and galloped
off toward Michie's.
As I reined at Michie's porch, at ten o'clock, the bridges behind me
were blown up, with a flare that seemed a blazing of the Northern
Lights. The family were sitting upon the porch, and Mrs. Michie was
greatly alarmed with the idea that a battle would be fought round her
house next day.
O'Ganlon, of Meagher's staff, had taken the fever, and sent anxiously
for me, to compare our symptoms.
I bade the good people adieu before I went to bed, and gave the man
"Pat" a dollar to stand by my horse while I slept, and to awake me at
any disturbance, that I might be ready to scamper. The man "Pat," I am
bound to say, woke me up thrice by the exclamation of--
"Sure, yer honor, there's--well--to pay in the yard! I think ye and the
Doctor had better ride off."
On each of those occasions, I found that the man Pat had been lonesome,
and wanted somebody to speak to.
What a sleep was mine that night! I forgot my fever. But another and a
hotter fever burned my temples,--the fearful excitement of the time!
Whither were we to go, cut off from the York, beaten before
Richmond,--perhaps even now surrounded,--and to be butchered to-morrow,
till the clouds should rain blood? Were we to retreat one hundred miles
down the hostile Peninsula,--a battle at every rod, a grave at every
footstep? Then I remembered the wounded heaped at Gaines's Mill, and how
they were groaning without remedy, ebbing at every pulse, counting the
flashing drops, calling for water, for mercy, for death. So I found
heart; for I was not buried yet. And somehow I felt that fate was to
take me, as the great poet took Dante, through other and greater
horrors.