M'CLELLAN'S RETREAT.
The scene presented in Michie's lawn and oak grove, on Saturday morning,
was terribly picturesque, and characteristic of the calamity of war. The
well was beset by crowds of wounded men, perishing of thirst, who made
frantic efforts to reach the bucket, but were borne back by the stronger
desperadoes. The kitchen was swarming with hungry soldiers who begged
corn-bread and half-cooked dough from the negroes. The shady side-yard
was dotted with pale, bruised, and bleeding people, who slept out their
weariness upon the damp grass, forgetful, for the moment, of their
sores. Ambulances poured through the lane, in solemn procession, and now
and then, couples of privates bore by some wounded officer, upon a
canvas "stretcher." The lane proving too narrow, at length, for the
passing vehicles, the gate-posts and fence were torn up, and finally,
the soldiers made a footway of the hall of the dwelling.
The retreat had been in progress all night, as I had heard the wagons
through my open windows. By daylight the whole army was acquainted with
the facts, that we were to resign our depot at White House, relinquish
the North bank of the river, and retire precipitately to the shores of
the James. A rumor--indignantly denied, but as often repeated--prevailed
among the teamsters, surgeons, and drivers, that the wounded were to be
left in the enemy's hands. It shortly transpired that we were already
cut off from the Pamunkey. A train had departed for White House at dawn,
and had delivered its cargo of mortality safely; but a second train,
attempting the passage, at seven o'clock had been fired into, and
compelled to return. A tremendous explosion, and a shaft of white smoke
that flashed to the zenith, informed us, soon afterward, that the
railroad bridge had been blown up.
About the same time, the roar of artillery recommenced in front, and
regiments that had not slept for twenty hours, were hurried past us, to
take position at the entrenchments. A universal fear now found
expression, and helpless people asked of each other, with pale lips--
"How far have we to walk to reach the James?"
It was doubtful, at this time, that any one knew the route to that
river. A few members of the signal corps had adventured thither to open
communication with the gunboats, and a small cavalry party of Casey's
division had made a foray to New Market and Charles City Court House.
But it was rumored that Wise's brigade of Confederates was now posted at
Malvern Hills, closing up the avenue of escape, and that the whole right
wing of the Confederate army was pushing toward Charles City. Malvern
Hills, the nearest point that could be gained, was about twenty miles
distant, and Harrison's Landing--presumed to be our final
destination--was thirty miles away. To retreat over this distance,
encumbered with baggage, the wounded and the sick, was discarded as
involving pursuit, and certain calamity. Cavalry might fall upon us at
every turning, since the greater portion of our own horse had been
scouting between White House and Hanover, when the bridges were
destroyed, and was therefore separated from the main army. At eight
o'clock--weak with fever and scarcely able to keep in the saddle--I
joined Mr. Anderson of the _Herald_, and rode toward the front, that I
might discover the whereabouts of the new engagement. Winding through a
cart-track in Michie's Woods, we came upon fully one third of the whole
army, or the remnant of all that portion engaged at Gaines's Mill;--the
Reserves, Porter's Corps, Slocum's division, and Meagher's
brigade,--perhaps thirty-thousand men. They covered the whole of Tent's
farm, and were drawn up in line, heavily equipped, with their colors in
position, field officers dismounted, and detachments from each regiment
preparing hot coffee at certain fires. A very few wagons--and these
containing only ammunition--stood harnessed beside each regiment. In
many cases the men lay or knelt upon the ground. Such hot, hungry, weary
wretches, I never beheld. During the whole night long they had been
crossing the Chickahominy, and the little sleep vouchsafed them had been
taken in snatches upon the bare clay. Travelling from place to place, I
saw the surviving heroes of the defeat: Meagher looking very yellow and
prosaic; Slocum,--small, indomitable, active; Newton,--a little gray, a
trifle proud, very mercurial, and curiously enough, a Virginian;
Meade,--lithe, spectacled, sanguine; and finally General McCall, as
grave, kindly odd and absent, as I had found him four months before. The
latter worthy was one of the first of the Federal Generals to visit
Richmond. He was taken prisoner the second day afterward, and the half
of his command was slain or disabled.
I went to and fro, obtaining the names of killed, wounded and missing,
with incidents of the battle as well as its general plan. These I
scrawled upon bits of newspaper, upon envelopes, upon the lining of my
hat, and finally upon my shirt wristbands. I was literally filled with
notes before noon, and if I had been shot at that time, endeavors to
obtain my name would have been extremely difficult. I should have had
more titles than some of the Chinese princes; some parts of me would
have been found fatally wounded, and others italicized for gallant
behavior. Indeed, I should have been shot in every part, taken prisoner
at every place, killed outright in every skirmish, and marvellously
saved through every peril. My tombstone would have been some hundreds of
muster-rolls and my obituary a fortune to a newspaper. I recollect, with
some amusement, the credit that each regiment took upon itself for
distinguished behavior. There were few Colonels that did not claim all
the honors. I fell in with a New Jersey brigade, that had been decimated
of nearly half its _quota_, and a spruce young Major attempted to convey
an idea of the battle to me. He said, in brief, that the New Jersey
brigade, composed mainly of himself and his regiment, and some few
organizations of little consequence,--although numbering ten thousand
odd soldiers,--had received the whole shock of a quantity of "Rebels."
The said "Rebels" appeared to make up one fourth part of the population
of the globe. There was no end to them. They seemed to be several miles
deep, longer and more crooked than the Pamunkey, and stood with their
rear against Richmond, so that they couldn't fall back, even if they
wanted to. In vain did the New Jersey brigade and his regiment attack
them with ball and bayonet. How the "Rebels" ever withstood the
celebrated charge of his regiment was altogether inexplicable.
In the language of the Major,--"the New Jersey brigade,--and my
regiment,--fit, and fit, and fit, and give 'em 'get out!' But sir, may I
be----, well there (expression inadequate), we couldn't budge 'em. No,
sir! (very violently,) not budge 'em, sir! _I_ told the boys to walk at
'em with cold steel. Says I: 'Boys, steel'ill fetch 'em, or nothin'
under heaven!' Well, sir, at 'em we went,--me and the boys. There ain't
been no sich charge in the whole war! Not in the whole war, sir!
(intensely fervid;) leave it to any impartial observer if there has
been! We went up the hill, square in the face of all their artillery,
musketry, cavalry, sharpshooters, riflemen,--everything, sir!
Everything! (energetically.) One o' my men overheard the Rebel General
say, as we came up: says he,--'that's the gamest thing I ever see.'
Well! we butchered 'em frightful. We must a killed a thousand or two of
'em, don't you think so, Adjutant? But, sir,--it was all in vain. No go,
sir! no, sir, no go! (impressively.) And the New Jersey brigade and my
regiment fell back, inch by inch, with our feet to the foe
(rhetorically.) Is that so, boys?"
The "boys," who had meantime gathered around, exclaimed loudly, that it
was "true as preachin," and the Major added, in an undertone that his
name was spelled * * *.
"But where were Porter's columns?" said I, "and the Pennsylvania
Reserves?"
"I didn't see 'em," said the Major: "I don't think they was there. If
they had a been, why wa'n't they on hand to save my regiment, and the
New Jersey brigade?"
It would be wrong to infer from these vauntings, that the Federals did
not fight bravely and endure defeat unshrinkingly. On the contrary, I
have never read of higher exemplifications of personal and moral
courage, than I witnessed during this memorable retreat. And the young
Major's boasting did not a whit reduce my estimate of his efficiency.
For in America, swaggering does not necessarily indicate cowardice. I
knew a Captain of artillery in Smith's division, who was wordier than
Gratiano, and who exaggerated like Falstaff. But he was a lion in
action, and at Lee's Mills and Williamsburg his battery was handled with
consummate skill.
From Trent's farm the roadway led by a strip of corduroy, through
sloppy, swampy woods, to an open place, beyond a brook, where Smith's
division lay. The firing had almost entirely ceased, and we heard loud
cheers running up and down the lines, as we again ventured within cannon
range. On this spot, for the second time, the Federals had won a decided
success. And in so far as a cosmopolitan could feel elated, I was proud,
for a moment, of the valor of my division. The victors had given me
meals and a bed, and they had fed my pony when both of us were hungry.
But the sight of the prisoners and the collected dead, saddened me
somewhat.
These two engagements have received the name of the First and Second
battles of Golding's Farm. They resulted from an effort of Toombs's
Georgia brigade to carry the redoubt and breastworks of General Smith.
Toombs was a civilian, and formerly a senator from Georgia. He had no
military ability, and his troops were driven back with great slaughter,
both on Friday and Saturday. Among the prisoners taken was Colonel Lamar
of (I think) the 7th Georgia regiment. He passed me, in a litter,
wounded, as I rode toward the redoubt.
Lamar was a beautiful man, shaped like a woman, and his hair was long,
glossy, and wavy with ringlets. He was a tiger, in his love of blood,
and in character self-willed and vehement. He was of that remarkable
class of Southern men, of which the noted "Filibuster" Walker was the
great exponent. I think I may call him an apostle of slavery. He
believed it to be the destiny of our pale race to subdue all the dusky
tribes of the earth, and to evangelize, with the sword, the whole
Western continent, to the uses of master and man. Such people were
called disciples of "manifest destiny." He threw his whole heart into
the war; but when I saw him, bloodless, panting, quivering, I thought
how little the wrath of man availed against the justice of God. From
Smith's on the right, I kept along a military road, in the woods, to
Sedgwick's and Richardson's divisions, at Fairoaks. Richardson was
subsequently slain, at the second battle of Bull Run. He was called
"Fighting Dick," and on this particular morning was talking composedly
to his wife, as she was about to climb to the saddle. His tent had been
taken down, and soldiers were placing his furniture in a wagon. A
greater contrast I never remarked, than the ungainly, awkward, and
rough General, with his slight, trim, pretty companion. She had come to
visit him and had remained until commanded to retire. I fancied, though
I was separated some distance, that the little woman wept, as she kissed
him good by, and he followed her, with frequent gestures of good-hap,
till she disappeared behind the woods. I do not know that such prosaic
old soldiers are influenced by the blandishments of love; but "Fighting
Dick" never wooed death so recklessly as in the succeeding engagements
of New Market and Malvern Hills.
From Seven Pines to the right of Richardson's head-quarters, ran a line
of alternate breastwork, redoubt, and stockade. The best of these
redoubts was held by Captain Petit, with a New York Volunteer battery. I
had often talked with Petit, for he embodied, as well as any man in the
army, the martial qualifications of a volunteer. He despised order.
Nobody cared less for dress and dirt. I have seen him, sitting in a hole
that he hollowed with his hands, tossing pebbles and dust over his head,
like another Job. He had profound contempt for any man and any system
that was not "American." I remember asking him, one day, the meaning of
the gold lace upon the staff hats of the Irish brigade.
"Means run like shell!" said Petit, covering me with dirt.
"Don't the Irish make the best soldiers?" I ventured.
"No!" said Petit, raining pebbles, "I had rather have one American than
ten Irishmen."
The fighting of Petit was contrary to all rule; but I think that he was
a splendid artillery-man. He generally mounted the rampart, shook his
fist at the enemy, flung up his hat, jumped down, sighted the guns
himself, threw shells with wonderful accuracy, screamed at the gunners,
mounted the rampart again, halloed, and, in short, managed to do more
execution, make more noise, attract more attention and throw more dirt
than anybody in the army. His redoubt was small, but beautifully
constructed, and the parapet was heaped with double rows of sandbags. It
mounted rifled field-pieces, and, at most times, the gunners were lying
under the pieces, asleep. Not any of the entrenched posts among the
frontier Indians were more enveloped in wilderness than this. The trees
had been felled in front to give the cannon play, but behind and on each
side belts of dense, dwarf timber covered the boggy soil. To the left of
Petit, on the old field of Seven Pines, lay the divisions of Hooker and
Kearney, and thither I journeyed, after leaving the redoubtable
volunteer. Hooker was a New Englander, reputed to be the handsomest man
in the army. He fought bravely in the Mexican war, and afterwards
retired to San Francisco, where he passed a Bohemian existence at the
Union Club House. He disliked McClellan, was beloved by his men, and was
generally known as "Old Joe." He has been one of the most successful
Federal leaders, and seems to hold a charmed life. In all probability he
will become Commander-in-chief of one of the grand armies.
Kearney has passed away since the date of which I speak. He was known as
the "one-armed Devil," and was, by odds, the best educated of all the
Federal military chiefs. But, singularly enough, he departed from all
tactics, when hotly afield. His personal energy and courage have given
him renown, and he loved to lead forlorn hopes, or head
storming-parties, or ride upon desperate adventures. He was rich from
childhood, and spent much of his life in Europe. For a part of this time
he served as a cavalry-man with the French, in Algiers. In private life
he was equally reckless, but his tastes were scholarly, and he was
generous to a fault. Both Kearney and Hooker were kind to the reporters,
and I owe the dead man many a favor. General Daniel Sickles commanded a
brigade in this corps. To the left, and in the rear of Heintzelman's
corps, lay the divisions of Casey and Couch, that had relapsed into
silence since their disgrace at Seven Pines. General Casey was a
thin-haired old gentleman, too gracious to be a soldier, although I
believe that he is still in the service. His division comprised the
extreme left of the Grand Army, and bordered upon a deep, impenetrable
bog called "White Oak Swamp." It was the purpose of McClellan to place
this swamp between him and the enemy, and defend its passage till his
baggage and siege artillery had obtained the shelter of the gunboats, on
the shores of the James. I rode along this whole line, to renew my
impressions of the position, and found that sharp skirmishing was going
on at every point. When I returned to Savage's, where McClellan's
headquarters had temporarily been pitched, I found the last of the
wagons creaking across the track, and filing slowly southward. The
wounded lay in the out-houses, in the trains of cars, beside the hedge,
and in shade of the trees about the dwelling. A little back, beside a
wood, lay Lowe's balloon traps, and the infantry "guard," and cavalry
"escort" of the Commander-in-chief were encamped close to the new
provost quarters, in a field beyond the orchard. An ambulance passed me,
as I rode into the lane; it was filled with sufferers, and two men with
bloody feet, crouched in the trail. From the roof of Savage's house
floated the red hospital flag. Savage himself was a quiet Virginia
farmer, and a magistrate. His name is now coupled with a grand battle.
I felt very hungry, at four o'clock, but my weak stomach revolted at
coarse soldier fare, and I determined to ride back to Michie's. I was
counselled to beware; but having learned little discretion afield, I
cantered off, through a trampled tillage of wheat, and an interminable
woods. In a half hour I rode into the familiar yard; but the place was
so ruined that I hardly recognized it. Not a panel of fence remained:
the lawn was a great pool of slime; the windlass had been wrenched from
the well; a few gashed and expiring soldiers lay motionless beneath the
oaks, the fields were littered with the remains of camps, and the old
dwelling stood like a haunted thing upon a blighted plain. The idlers,
the teamsters, and the tents were gone,--all was silence,--and in the
little front porch sat Mrs. Michie, weeping; the old gentleman stared at
the desolation with a working face, and two small yellow lads lay
dolorously upon the steps. They all seemed to brighten up as I appeared
at the gate, and when I staggered from my horse, both of them took my
hands. I think that tears came into all our eyes at once, and the little
Ethiops fairly bellowed.
"My friends," I said, falteringly, "I see how you have suffered, and
sympathize with you, from my heart."
"Our beautiful property is ruined," said Mrs. Michie, welling up.
"Yer's five years of labor,--my children's heritage,--the home of our
old age,--look at it!"
The old gentleman stood up gravely, and cast his eyes mournfully around.
"I have nobody to accuse," he said; "my grief is too deep for any hate.
This is war!"
"What will the girls say when they come back?" was the mother's next
sob; "they loved the place: do you think they will know it?"
I did not know how to reply. They retained my hands, and for a moment
none of us spoke.
"Don't think, Mr. Townsend," said the chivalrous old gentleman again,
"that we like you less because some of your country people have stripped
us. Mother, where is the gruel you made for him?"
The good lady, expecting my return, had prepared some nourishing chicken
soup, and directly she produced it. I think she took heart when I ate so
plentifully, and we all spoke hopefully again. Their kindness so touched
me, that as the evening came quietly about us, lengthening the shadows,
and I knew that I must depart, I took both their hands again, doubtful
what to say.
"My friends,--may I say, almost my parents? for you have been as
kind,--good by! In a day, perhaps, you will be with your children again.
Richmond will be open to you. You may freely go and come. Be comforted
by these assurances. And when the war is over,--God speed the time!--we
may see each other under happier auspices."
"Good by!" said Mr. Michie; "if I have a house at that time, you shall
be welcome."
"Good by," said Mrs. Michie; "tell your mother that a strange lady in
Virginia took good care of you when you were sick."
I waved a final adieu, vaulted down the lane, and the wood gathered its
solemn darkness about me. When I emerged upon Savage's fields, a
succession of terrible explosions shook the night, and then the flames
flared up, at points along the railroad. They were blowing up the
locomotives and burning the cars. At the same hour, though I could not
see it, White House was wrapped in fire, and the last sutler, teamster,
and cavalry-man had disappeared from the shores of the Pamunkey.
I tossed through another night of fever, in the captain's tent of the
Sturgis Rifles,--McClellan's body guard. And somehow, again, I dreamed
fitfully of the unburied corpses on the field of Gaines's Mill.