BY THE RIVERSIDE.
A crash and a stunning shock, as of a falling sphere, aroused me at nine
o'clock. A shell had burst in front of our tent, and the enemy's
artillery was thundering from Casey's old hill, beyond the swamp. As I
hastily drew on my boots,--for I had not otherwise undressed,--I had
opportunity to remark one of those unaccountable panics which develop
among civilian soldiers. The camps were plunged into disorder. As the
shells dropped here and there, among the tents and teams, the wildest
and most fearful deeds were enacted. Here a caisson blew up, tearing the
horses to pieces, and whirling a cannoneer among the clouds. There an
ammunition wagon exploded, and the air seemed to be filled with
fragments of wood, iron, and flesh. A boy stood at one of the fires,
combing out his matted hair; suddenly his head flew off, spattering the
brains, and the shell--which we could not see--exploded in a piece of
woods, mutilating the trees. The effect upon the people around me was
instantaneous and appalling. Some, that were partially dressed, took to
their heels, hugging a medley of clothing. The teamsters climbed into
the saddles, and shouted to their nags, whipping them the while. If the
heavy wheels hesitated to revolve, they left horses and vehicles to
their fate, taking themselves to the woods; or, as in some cases, cut
traces and harness, and galloped away like madmen. In a twinkling our
camps were almost deserted, and the fields, woods, and roads were alive
with fugitives, rushing, swearing, falling, and trampling, while the
fierce bolts fell momentarily among them, making havoc at every rod.
To join this flying, dying mass was my first impulse; but after-thought
reminded me that it would be better to remain. I must not leave my
horse, for I could not walk the whole long way to the James, and the
fever had so reduced me that I hardly cared to keep the little life
remaining. I almost marvelled at my coolness; since, in the fulness of
strength and health, I should have been one of the first of the
fugitives; whereas, I now looked interestedly upon the exciting
spectacle, and wished that it could be daguerreotyped.
Before our artillery could be brought to play, the enemy, emboldened at
his success, pushed a column of infantry down the hill, to cross the
creek, and engage us on our camping-ground. For a time I believed that
he would be successful, and in that event, confusion and ruin would have
overtaken the Unionists. The gray and butternut lines appeared over the
brow of the hill,--they wound at double quick through the narrow
defile,--they poured a volley into our camps when half-way down, and
under cover of the smoke they dashed forward impetuously, with a loud
huzza. The artillery beyond them kept up a steady fire, raining shell,
grape, and canister over their heads, and ploughing the ground on our
side, into zigzag furrows,--rending the trees, shattering the
ambulances, tearing the tents to tatters, slaying the horses, butchering
the men. Directly Captain Mott's battery was brought to bear; but before
he could open fire, a solid shot struck one of his twelve-pounders,
breaking the trunnion and splintering the wheels. In like manner one of
his caissons blew up, and I do not think that he was able to make any
practise whatever. A division of infantry was now marched forward, to
engage the Confederates at the creek side; but two of the
regiments--and I think that one was the 20th New York--turned bodily,
and could not be rallied. The moment was full of significance, and I
beheld these failures with breathless suspense. In five minutes the
pursuers would gain the creek, and in ten, drive our dismayed
battalions, like chaff before the wind. I hurried to my horse, that I
might be ready to escape. The shell and ball still made music around me.
I buckled up my saddle with tremulous fingers, and put my foot upon the
stirrup. But a cheer recalled me and a great clapping of hands, as at
some clever performance in the amphitheatre. I looked again. A battery
from our position across the road, had opened upon the Confederate
infantry, as they reached the very brink of the swamp. For a moment the
bayonets tossed wildly, the dense column staggered like a drunken man,
the flags rose and fell, and then the line fell back disorderly. At that
instant a body of Federal infantry, that I had not seen, appeared, as by
invocation; their steel fell flashingly, a column of smoke enveloped
them, the hills and skies seemed to split asunder with the shock,--and
when I looked again, the road was strewn with the dying and dead; the
pass had been defended.
As the batteries still continued to play, and as the prospect of
uninterrupted battle during the day was not a whit abated, I decided to
resume my saddle, and, if possible, make my way to the James. The
geography of the country, as I had deciphered it, satisfied me that I
must pass "New Market," before I could rely upon my personal safety. New
Market was a paltry cross-road's hamlet, some miles ahead, but as near
to Richmond as White Oak Creek. The probabilities were, that the
Confederates would endeavor to intercept us at this point, and so attack
us in flank and rear. As I did not witness either of these battles,
though I heard the discharge of every musket, it may be as well to
state, in brief, that June 30 was marked by the bloodiest of all the
Richmond struggles, excepting, possibly, Gaines's Mill. While the
Southern artillery engaged Franklin's corps, at White Oak Crossing, and
their left made several unavailing attempts to ford the creek with
infantry,--their entire right and centre, marched out the Charles City
Road, and gave impetuous battle at New Market. The accounts and the
results indicate that the Federals won the day at New Market, sheerly by
good fighting. They were parching with thirst, weak with hunger, and it
might have been supposed that reverses had broken their spirit. On the
contrary they did not fall back a rod, during the whole day, and at
evening Heintzelman's corps crowned their success by a grand charge,
whereat the Confederates broke and were pursued three miles toward
Richmond. The gunboats Galena and Aroostook, lying in the James at
Turkey Bend, opened fire at three o'clock, and killed promiscuously,
Federals and Confederates. But the Southern soldiers were superstitious
as to gunboats, and they could not be made to approach within range of
the Galena's monstrous projectiles.
I shall always recall my journey from White Oak to Harrison's Bar, as
marked by constantly increasing beauties of scenery, and terrors of
event. At every hoof-fall I was leaving the low, boggy, sparsely settled
Chickahominy region, for the high farm-lands of the James. The
dwellings, as I progressed, became handsome; the negro quarters were
less like huts and cattle-sheds; the ripe wheatfields stretched almost
to the horizon; the lawns and lanes were lined with ancient shade-trees;
there were picturesque gates and lodges; the fences were straight and
whitewashed, there were orchards, heavy with crimson apples, where the
pumpkins lay beneath, like globes of gold, in the rows of amber corn.
Into this patriarchal and luxuriant country, the retreating army wound
like a great devouring serpent. It was to me, the coming back of the
beaten _jetters_ through _Midgards_, or the repulse of the fallen angels
from heaven, trampling down the river-sides of Eden. They rode their
team-horses into the wavy wheat, and in some places, where the reapers
had been at work, they dragged the sheaves from the stacks, and rested
upon them. Hearing of the coming of the army, the proprietors had vainly
endeavored to gather their crops, but the negroes would not work, and
they had not modern implements, whereby to mow the grain rapidly. The
profanation of those glorious stretches of corn and rye were to me some
of the most melancholy episodes of the war. No mind can realize how the
grain-fields used to ripple, when the fresh breezes blew up and down the
furrows, and the hot suns of that almost tropical climate, had yielded
each separate head till the whole landscape was like a bright cloud, or
a golden sea. The tall, shapely stalks seemed to reach out imploringly,
like sunny-haired virgins, waiting to be gathered into the arms of the
farmer. They were the Sabine women, on the eve of the bridal, when the
insatiate Romans tore them away and trampled them. The Indian corn was
yet green, but so tall that the tasselled tops showed how cunningly the
young ears were ripening. There were melons in the corn-rows, that a
week would have developed, but the soldiers dashed them open and sucked
the sweet water. They threw clubs at the hanging apples till the ground
was littered with them, and the hogs came afield to gorge; they slew the
hogs and divided the fresh pork among themselves. As I saw, in one
place, dozens of huge German cavalry-men, asleep upon bundles of wheat,
I recalled their Frankish forefathers, swarming down the Apennines, upon
Italy.
The air was so sultry during a part of the day, that one was constantly
athirst. But there was a belt of country, four miles or more in width,
where there seemed to be neither rills nor wells. Happily, the roads
were, in great part, enveloped in stately timber, and the shade was very
grateful to men and horses. The wounded still kept with us, and many
that were fevered. They did not complain with words; but their red eyes
and painful pace told all the story. If we came to rivulets, they used
to lie upon their bellies, along the margins, with their heads in the
flowing water. The nags were so stiff and hot, that, when they were
reined into creeks, they refused to go forward, and my brown animal once
dropped upon his knees, and quietly surveyed me, as I pitched upon my
hands, floundering in the pool. I remember a stone dairy, such as are
found upon Pennsylvania grazing farms, where I stopped to drink. It lay
up a lane, some distance from the road, and two enormous tulip poplar
trees sheltered and half-concealed it. A tiny creek ran through the
dairy, over cool granite slabs, and dozens of earthen milk-bowls lay in
the water, with the mould of the cream brimming at the surface. A pewter
drinking-mug hung to a peg at the side, and there were wooden spoons for
skimming, straining pails, and great ladles of gourd and cocoanut. A
cooler, tidier, trimmer dairy, I had not seen, and I stretched out my
body upon the dry slabs, to drink from one of the milk-bowls. The cream
was sweet, rich, and nourishing, and I was so absorbed directly, that I
did not heed the footfalls of a tall, broad, vigorous man, who said in a
quiet way, but with a deep, sonorous voice, and a decided Northern
twang--
"Friend, you might take the mug. Some of your comrades will want to
drink from that bowl."
I begged his pardon hastily, and said that I supposed he was the
proprietor.
"I reckon that I must give over my ownership, while the army hangs
around here," said the man; "but I must endure what I can't cure."
Here he smiled grimly, and reached down the pewter cup. Then he bent
over a fresh bowl, and dexterously dipped the cup full of milk, without
seeming to break the cream.
"Drink that," he said; "and if there's any better milk in these parts, I
want to know the man."
He looked at me critically, while I emptied the vessel, and seemed to
enjoy my heartiness.
"If you had been smart enough to come this way, victorious," added the
man, straightforwardly, "instead of being out-generalled, whipped, and
driven, I should enjoy the loss of my property a great deal more!"
There was an irresistible heartiness in his tone and manner. He had,
evidently, resolved to bear the misfortunes of war bravely.
"You are a Northern man?" I said, inquiringly.
"How do you know?"
"There are no such dairies in Virginia; a Virginian never dipped a mug
of milk after your fashion; you haven't the Virginia inflection, and
very weak Virginia principles."
The man laughed dryly, and filled himself a cup, which he drank
sedately.
"I reckon you are correct," he said; "pretty much correct, any way. I'm
a New Yorker, from the Mohawk Valley, and I have been showing these
folks how they can't farm. If there's anybody that farms better than I
do, I want to know the man!"
He looked at the flowing water, the clean slabs and walls, the shining
tins, and smacked his lips satisfactorily. I asked him if he farmed with
negroes, and if the prejudices of the country affected either his social
or industrial interests. He answered that he was obliged to employ
negroes, as he had thrice tried the experiment of working with whites,
but with ill success.
"_I_ would have kept 'em," he added, in his great voice, closing a
prodigious fist, "but the men would not stay. I couldn't make the
neighbors respect them. There was nobody for 'em to associate with. They
were looked upon as niggers, and they got to feel it after a while. So I
have had only niggers latterly; but I get more work from them than any
other man in these parts. If there's anybody that gets more work out of
niggers than I do, I want to know the man!"
There was a sort of hard, hearty defiance about him, typical of his
severe, angular race, and I studied his large limbs and grim, full face
with curious admiration. He told me that he hired his negro hands from
the surrounding slave-owners, and that he gave them premiums upon excess
of work, approximating to wages. In this way they were encouraged to
habits of economy, perseverance, and sprightliness.
"I don't own a nigger," he said, "not one! But I don't think a nigger's
much too good to be a slave. I won't be bothered with owning 'em. And I
won't be conquered into 'the institution.' I said, when I commenced,
that I should not buy niggers, and I won't buy niggers, because I said
so! As to social disadvantages, every Northern man has 'em here. They
called me an abolitionist; and a fellow at the hotel in Richmond did so
to my face. I knocked him into a heap, and nobody has meddled with me
since." "Of course," he said, after a moment, "it won't do to inflame
these people. These people are like my bulls, and you mustn't shake a
red stick at 'em. Besides, I'm not a fanatic. I never was. My wife's one
of these people, and I let her think as she likes. But, if there's
anybody in these parts that wants to interfere with me, I should like to
know the man!"
The contemptuous tone in which he mentioned "these people" amused me
infinitely, and I believed that his resolute, indomitable manner would
have made him popular in any society. He was shrewd, withal, and walked
beside me to his gate. When the regiments halted to rest, by the
wayside, he invited the field officers to the dairy, and so obtained
guards to rid him of depredators. He would have escaped very handsomely,
but the hand of war was not always so merciful, and a part of the battle
of Malvern Hills was fought upon his property. I have no doubt that he
submitted unflinchingly, and sat more stolidly amid the wreck than old
Marius in battered Carthage.
Until two o'clock in the afternoon I rode leisurely southward, under a
scorching sky, but still bearing up, though aflame with fever. The guns
thundered continuously behind, and the narrow roads were filled, all the
way, with hurrying teams, cavalry, cannon, and foot soldiers. I stopped,
a while, by a white frame church,--primly, squarely built,--and read the
inscriptions upon the tombs uninterestedly. Some of the soldiers had
pried open the doors, and a wounded Zouave was delivering a mock sermon
from the pulpit. Some of his comrades broke up the meeting by singing--
"John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave,"
and then a Major ordered them out, and put a guard upon the building.
The guard played cards upon the door sills.
I was frequently obliged, by the crowded state of the roads, to turn
aside into woods, fens, and fields, and so make precarious progress.
Sometimes I strayed, unwittingly, a good way from the army, and
recovered the route with difficulty. On one of these occasions, I was
surprised by a person in civil dress, who seemed to shoot up out of the
ground. He was the queerest, grimmest, fearfulest man that I have ever
known, and, at first, I thought that the arch fiend had appeared before
me. The wood was very deep here, and there were no wayfarers but we two.
It was quite still; but now and then we heard the rumble of wagons, and
the crack of teamster's whips. The man in question wore dead black
beard, and his eyebrows were of the same intense, lustreless hue. So
were his eyes and his hair; but the latter formed a circle or cowl
around his head. He had a pale skin, his fingers, were long and bony,
and he rode dexterously in and out, among the tree boles, with his hat
in his hand. His horse was as black as himself, and, together, they made
a half-brigandish, half-satanic appearance.
I reined in sharply, when I saw this person, and he looked at me like
the evil-eye, through his great owlish orbs.
"Good day," he said, in profound basso, as low I think as "double G,"
and when he opened his mouth, I saw that his teeth were very white.
I saluted him gravely, and, not without a shudder, rode beside him. He
proved to be a sort of Missionary, from the Evangelical religious
denominations of the North, to inquire into the spiritual condition of
the soldiers. Camps were full of such people, but I had not found any
man who appeared to be less qualified for his vocation; to have such a
figure at one's deathbed, would be like a foretaste of the great fiend.
He had a fashion of working his scalp half way down to his eyes, as he
spoke, and when he smiled,--though he never laughed aloud,--his
eyelashes did not contract, as with most people, but rather expanded,
till his eyeballs projected from his head. On such occasions, his white
teeth were revealed like a row of fangs, and his leprous skin grew yet
paler.
"The army has not even the form of godliness," said this man. In the
course of his remarks, he had discovered that I was a correspondent, and
at once turned the conversation into a politico-religious channel.
"The form of godliness is gone," said the man again in "double G." "This
is a calamitous fact! I would it were not so! I grieve to state it! But
inquiry into the fact, has satisfied me that the form of godliness does
not exist. Ah!"
When the man said "Ah!" I thought that my horse would run away, and
really, the tone was like the deep conjuration in Hamlet:
"_swear-r-r-r_!"
"For example," said the man, who told me that his name was Dimpdin,--"I
made some remarks to the 1st New Jersey, on Sabbath week. The field
officers directed the men to attend; I opened divine service with a
feeling hymn; a very feeling hymn! A long measure hymn. By Montgomery!
I commenced earnestly in prayer. In appropriate prayer! I spoke
advisedly for a short hour. What were the results? The deplorable
results? There were men, sir, in that assembly, who went to sleep. To
sleep!"
He must have gone a great way below "double G," this time, and I did not
see how he could get back. He drew his scalp quite down to the bridge of
his nose, and, seeing that my horse pricked up his ears, timorously
smiled like the idol of Baal.
"There were men, sir, who did worse. Not simply failing to be hearers of
the word! But doers of evil! Men who played cards during the service.
Played cards! Gambled! Gambled! And some,--abandoned wretches!--who
mocked me! Lifted up their voices and mocked! Mockers, gamblers,
slumberers!"
I never heard anything so awful as the man Dimpdin's voice, at the
iteration of these three words. They seemed to come from the bowels of
the earth, and rang through the wood like the growl of a lion. He told
me that he was engaged upon a Memorial to the Evangelical Union, which
should state the number of unconverted men in the ranks, and the number
of castaways. He accredited the loss of the campaign to the prevailing
wickedness, but was unwilling to admit that the Southern troops were
more religious. His theory of reform, if I remember it, embraced the
raising of Chaplains to the rank of Major, with proportionate pay and
perquisites, the establishment of a military religious bureau, and a
Chaplain-General with Aides. Each soldier, officer, teamster, and
drummer-boy was to have a Testament in his knapsack, and services should
be held on the eve of every battle, and at roll-call in the mornings.
There was to be an inspection of Testaments as of muskets. For swearing,
a certain sum should be subtracted from the soldier's pay, and conferred
upon the Chaplains.
"In fact," said Dimpdin, tragically,--scalping himself meanwhile,--"the
church must be recognized in every department, and if my Memorial be
acted upon favorably, we shall have such victories, in three months, as
will sweep Rebellion into the grave. Yes! Into the grave! The grave!"
I was obliged to say, here, that my horse could not stand these
sepulchral noises, and that my nerves, being shattered by the fever,
were inadequate to bear the shock. So the man Dimpdin smiled, like a
window-mummy, and contented himself with looking like Apollyon. We
reached a rill directly, and he produced a wicker flask, with a
Britannia drinking-case.
"Young men love stimulating drinks," said Dimpdin,--"strong drinks!
alcoholic drinks! Here is a portion of Monongahela! old Monongahela! We
will refresh ourselves!"
He found a lemon, accidentally, in his saddle-bag, and contrived an
informal punch, with wonderful dexterity. I took a draught modestly, and
he emptied the rest, with an "Ah!" that shook the woods.
I wondered if the man Dimpdin would suggest the apportionment of flasks
to soldiers, in his Evangelical report!
He left me, when we regained the road, to ride with a lithe, bronchial
person, in white neckcloth and coat cut close at the collar. They looked
like the fox and the fiend, in the fable, and I seemed to hear the man
Dimpdin's voice for three succeeding weeks.
At three o'clock, I climbed a gentle hill,--and I was now very weary and
weak,--and from the summit, looked upon the river James, flowing far off
to the right, through woods, and bluffs, and grainfields, and reedy
islands. At last, I had gained the haven. The bright waters below me
seemed to cool my red, fiery eyes, and a sort of blessed blindness fell
for a time upon me, so that, when I looked again my lashes were wet. The
prospect was truly beautiful. Far to the west, standing out from the
chalky bluffs, were scattered the white camps of Wise's Confederate
brigade. Beyond, on the remote bank of the river, lay farm-lands, and
stately mansions, and some one showed me, rising faintly in the
distance, "Drury's Bluff," the site of Fort Darling, where the gunboats
were repulsed in the middle of May. Below, in the river, lay the
_Galena_, and a little way astern, the _Aroostook_. Signal-men, with
flags, were elevated upon the masts of each, and the gunners stood upon
the decks, as waiting some emergency. The vessels had steam up, and
seemed to be ready for action at any moment. This was Grand Turkey Bend,
and the rising ground on which I stood, was known as "Malvern Hills." A
farm-house lay to my left, and repairing thither, I cast myself from the
nag, and lay down in the shady yard, thankful that I had reached the
haven, and only solicitous now to escape the further privations of
McClellan's Peninsular Campaign.