RENEWAL OF THE BATTLE--VICTORY FOR THE FEDERAL ARMS--ADDRESS TO THE
ARMY--MORE DESPATCHES--MY BATTLE TROPHY--PONY REB'S PERFORMANCES--THE
HOSPITAL TREE--TOUCHING SCENES--BISHOP SIMPSON--THE CROSS AND THE
FLAG--AFTER THE BATTLE--DELAYS BY STORMS, FLOODS AND MUD--MCCLELLAN'S
CALL FOR MORE MEN--IN READINESS TO MARCH--PROMISED REINFORCEMENTS.
Night brought a cessation of hostilities to the weary troops, but to
neither side a decided victory or defeat. Both armies bivouaced on the
bloody field, within a few rods of each other. There they lay waiting for
the morning light to decide the contest. The excitement and din of battle
had ceased; those brief hours of darkness proved a sweet respite from the
fierce struggle of the day, and in the holy calm of that midnight hour,
when silence brooded over the blood-washed plain, many brave soldiers lay
down on that gory field--
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
Sunday, the first of June, dawned beautifully, a day of hallowed rest and
promise to the millions who rose to their devotions, ere the bell called
them to the house of prayer, but not of rest to the weary, broken armies
the drum-beat called from their wet and muddy beds to renew the contest.
At a quarter-past seven o'clock the battle again commenced, and raged
fiercely until about noon. Both armies fought with determination and
heroic bravery until the rebels were compelled to yield, and victory once
more perched upon the banners of the National troops.
I came on the field about ten o'clock, and remained until the close of the
battle, but could do little more than look upon the terrible scene.
General McClellan was on the field when I arrived. I saw him ride along
the entire battle-front, and if I had not seen him, I could not have long
remained in ignorance of his presence--for the cheers from all parts of
the Federal lines told as plainly as words could express that their
beloved commander was with them, amid that desperate struggle for victory.
It was a terrible slaughter--more than fifteen thousand lay upon the
field. It was enough to make angels weep, to look down upon that field of
carnage. The dead and wounded of the enemy fell into the hands of the
Unionists, which added fearfully to the labors of that exhausted,
battle-worn army.
On the evening of the third of June, General McClellan issued the
following address to his troops, which was read on dress parade, and was
received with tremendous cheering:
"Soldiers of the Army of the Potomac! I have fulfilled at least a part of
my promise to you. You are now face to face with the rebels, who are held
at bay in front of their capital. The final and decisive battle is at
hand. Unless you belie your past history, the result cannot be for a
moment doubtful. If the troops who labored so faithfully at Yorktown, and
fought so bravely, and won the hard fights at Williamsburg, West Point,
Hanover Court-house and Fair Oaks, now prove themselves worthy of their
antecedents, the victory is surely ours. The events of every day prove
your superiority; wherever you have met the enemy, you have beaten him;
wherever you have used the bayonet, he has given way in panic and
disorder.
"I ask of you, now, one last crowning effort. The enemy has staked his all
on the issue of the coming battle. Let us meet him, crush him here, in the
very centre of the rebellion. Soldiers! I will be with you in this battle,
and share its dangers with you. Our confidence in each other is now
founded upon the past. Let us strike the blow which is to restore peace
and union to this distracted land. Upon your valor, discipline and mutual
confidence, the result depends."
Every battle fought on the Peninsula fearfully reduced the strength of the
Army of the Potomac, and proved to a demonstration that the enemy far
outnumbered the Union forces. Still there were no reinforcements,
notwithstanding McClellan's daily urgent despatches to the President and
Secretary of War, and the great impending battle in front of the rebel
Capital so near at hand.
The next day McClellan sent another despatch, as follows:
"Please inform me at once what reinforcements, if any, I can count upon
having at Fortress Monroe or White House, within the next three days, and
when each regiment may be expected to arrive. It is of the utmost
importance that I should know this immediately. The losses in the battle
of the thirty-first and first will amount to seven thousand. Regard this
as confidential for the present. After the losses in our last battle, I
trust that I shall no longer be regarded as an alarmist. I believe we have
at least one more desperate battle to fight."
The day after the battle of Fair Oaks, a splendid sword was presented to
me. It had been struck from the hand of a rebel colonel, while in the act
of raising it to strike one of our officers after he had fallen from his
horse. Oh, how proud I felt of that beautiful silver-mounted trophy, from
the bloody field of Fair Oaks, which had so recently been wielded by a
powerful arm, but powerless now, for he lay in the agonies of death, while
his splendid sword had passed into my feeble hands. I presume if he had
known this, it would have added another pang to his already agonized
spirit. The sword was presented by General K., to whom I gave my rebel
pony, with the comforting assurance that he was only intended for
ornament, and not for use; for generals were too scarce on the Peninsula
to risk their precious lives by coming in contact with him. The General
was delighted with him, and without paying the slightest attention to my
suggestion deliberately walked up to the pony and commenced patting him
and handling his limbs as if he were the most quiet creature in the world,
while "Reb" stood eyeing his new master with apparent satisfaction, and
seemed to rejoice that he had passed from my insignificant hands, and was
henceforth to be the honored bearer of shoulder-straps. After thoroughly
examining him he said: "He is certainly a splendid horse, and worth three
hundred dollars of any man's money; all he requires is kind treatment, and
he will be as gentle as any one could desire."
But "Reb" very soon gave him to understand decidedly that he was
overrating his good qualities; for no sooner had the General turned his
back toward him than he struck him between the shoulders with both hind
feet, sending him his full length upon the ground; and as soon as he
attempted to rise he repeated the same performance until he had knocked
him down four or five times in succession. By that time the General was
pretty thoroughly convinced that "Reb's" social qualities were somewhat
deficient, his bump of combativeness largely developed, and his gymnastics
quite impressive.
On the evening of the same day in which the victory was won I visited what
was then, and is still called, the "hospital tree," near Fair Oaks. It was
an immense tree under whose shady, extended branches the wounded were
carried and laid down to await the stimulant, the opiate, or the
amputating knife, as the case might require. The ground around that tree
for several acres in extent was literally drenched with human blood, and
the men were laid so close together that there was no such thing as
passing between them; but each one was removed in their turn as the
surgeons could attend to them. I witnessed there some of the most
heart-rending sights it is possible for the human mind to conceive. Read
what a Massachusetts chaplain writes concerning it:
"There is a large tree near the battle-ground of Fair Oaks, the top of
which was used as an observatory during the fight, which stands as a
memento of untold, and perhaps never to be told, suffering and sorrow.
Many of the wounded and dying were laid beneath its branches after the
battle, in order to receive surgical help, or to breathe their last more
quietly. What heart-rending scenes did I witness in that place, so full of
saddened memories to me and to others. Brave, uncomplaining men were
brought thither out of the woodland, the crimson tide of whose life was
ebbing away in the arms of those who carried them. Almost all who died met
death like heroes, with scarcely a groan. Those wounded, but not
mortally--how nobly they bore the necessary probings and needed
amputations! Two instances of this heroic fortitude deserve to be
specially mentioned. One of them is that of William C. Bentley, of the
Second Rhode Island regiment, both of whose legs were broken by a
bomb-shell, whose wrist and breast were mangled, and who yet was as calm
as if he suffered no pain. He refused any opiate or stimulant that might
dim his consciousness. He asked only that we should pray for him, that he
might be patient and submissive, and dictated a letter to be sent to his
mother. Then, and not till then, opiates were given him, and he fell
gently asleep, and for the last time.
"The other case was that of Francis Sweetzer, of Company E, of the
Sixteenth Massachusetts Regiment, who witnessed in death, as he had
uniformly done in life, a good confession of Christ. 'Thank God,' he said,
'that I am permitted to die for my country. Thank God more yet that I am
prepared to die;' and then after a moment's thought he modestly added, 'at
least I hope I am.' When he died he was in the act of prayer, and in that
position his limbs grew rigid, and so remained after the spirit had left
his body."
Oh, who that has witnessed such triumphant deaths on the battle-field will
presume to doubt that the spirit of that patriot who falls amid the
terrible clash of arms and the fierce surge of battle, is prepared to go
from that scene of blood and strife, and to enter into that rest that God
has prepared for them that love Him? Yes, the noble men who have gone from
under the sheltering wings of the different evangelical churches
throughout the land, have gone in the strength of God, and with the full
assurance that if they should fall fighting for the God-given rights of
humanity, there, amid the shock of battle, the still, small voice of Jesus
would be heard speaking peace to the departing soul, and that their
triumphant spirits would go home rejoicing to be forever with the Lord!
When I see a man first lay himself upon the altar of God, and then upon
the altar of his country, I have no fear for that man's happiness in time
or in eternity.
Good Bishop Simpson, of the Methodist Episcopal Church, soon after the
outbreak of the great rebellion, delivered a sermon on the National
crisis, at Chicago. It is represented as one of the ablest efforts of this
clergyman, so distinguished for his power in the pulpit. As it was one of
the anniversaries of the denomination, thousands were present to hear the
discourse. Suddenly, at one point in the sermon, and as the fitting close
of a most impassioned paragraph, he gave utterance to the following noble
sentiment: "We will take our glorious flag, the flag of our country, and
nail it just below the cross! That is high enough. There let it wave as it
waved of old. Around it let us gather: first Christ's; then our
country's." Oh, that the sentiments of the following beautiful lines were
the sentiments of every heart in the United States:
O Lord of Hosts! Almighty King!
Behold the sacrifice we bring!
To every arm thy strength impart,
Thy spirit shed through every heart!
Wake in our breasts the living fires,
The holy faith that warmed our sires;
Thy hand hath made our nation free;
To die for her is serving Thee.
Be Thou a pillar'd flame to show
The midnight snare, the silent foe,
And when the battle thunders loud,
Still guide us in its moving cloud.
God of all nations! sovereign Lord!
In thy dread name we draw the sword,
We lift the starry flag on high
That fills with light our stormy sky.
No more its flaming emblems wave
To bar from hope the trembling slave;
No more its radiant glories shine
To blast with woe one child of Thine!
From treason's rent, from murderer's stain,
Guard Thou its folds till peace shall reign,
Till fort and field, till shore and sea,
Join our loud anthem, Praise to Thee!
I cannot better describe the state of affairs after the battle of Fair
Oaks than by giving the following despatch from McClellan, dated June 7th:
"In reply to your despatch of 2 p. m. to-day, I have the honor to state
that the Chickahominy river has risen so as to flood the entire bottoms
to the depth of three or four feet; I am pushing forward the bridges in
spite of this, and the men are working night and day, up to their waists
in water, to complete them. The whole face of the country is a perfect
bog, entirely impassable for artillery, or even cavalry, except directly
in the narrow roads, which renders any general movement, either of this or
the rebel army, entirely out of the question until we have more favorable
weather. I am glad to learn that you are pressing forward reinforcements
so vigorously. I shall be in perfect readiness to move forward and take
Richmond the moment McCall reaches here and the ground will admit the
passage of artillery. I have advanced my pickets about a mile to-day,
driving off the rebel pickets and securing a very advantageous position.
The rebels have several batteries established, commanding the debouches
from two of our bridges, and fire upon our working parties continually;
but as yet they have killed but few of our men."
Again, June 10th, he says: "I am completely checked by the weather. The
roads and fields are literally impassable for artillery--almost so for
infantry. The Chickahominy is in a dreadful state. We have another rain
storm on our hands. I wish to be distinctly understood that whenever the
weather permits I will attack with whatever force I may have, although a
larger force would enable me to gain much more decisive results. I would
be glad to have McCall's infantry sent forward by water at once, without
waiting for his artillery and cavalry."
The next day the Secretary of War replied: "Your despatch of 3.30 p. m.
yesterday has been received. I am fully impressed with the difficulties
mentioned, and which no art or skill can avoid, but only endure. Be
assured, General, that there never has been a moment when my desire has
been otherwise than to aid you with my whole heart, mind and strength,
since the hour we first met; and whatever others may say for their own
purposes, you never have had, and never can have, any one more truly your
friend, or more anxious to support you, or more joyful than I shall be at
the success which I have no doubt will soon be achieved by your arms."
The above despatch has the appearance of the genuine article--but I am
inclined to think it a clever counterfeit. While McClellan's requests were
cheerfully complied with, as far as promises were concerned, little was
done to strengthen his weakened forces in view of the coming struggle with
an overwhelming force in front, and the flooded Chickahominy in the rear.
By unreliable promises he was filled with delusive hopes, and lead on to
more certain destruction--to disaster and failure, at least.