HARRISON'S LANDING.
March to Harrison's Bar--A scene of confusion--A beautiful
landscape--Fourth of July in camp--Gloom at the north--Cause of
the disasters--Prevalence of disease--Review by the President--A
night demonstration by the enemy--Reconnoissance to Malvern
Hill--Departure of General Davidson--A retrospect.
Our corps remained in line of battle in the wheat field till early next
morning; changing position during the night just often enough to deprive
us of rest. As we started out toward Harrison's Landing the rain was
pouring in sheets; and throughout the day it continued to deluge the
country. The roads were rivers of almost fathomless mud; and our tired
men could scarcely drag themselves along. But at four in the afternoon
we halted under cover of our gunboats, and bivouacked for the night.
Such a deplorable scene as was here, was enough to melt the heart of the
stoutest. As we debouched from a piece of woods skirting the plateau at
Harrison's Landing, officers stood like hotel porters at a steamboat
landing, calling out "This way for the Third corps;" "This way for the
Fifth corps;" "This way for Slocum's division." All was confusion. The
whole army seemed to be made of stragglers. Our little Brigadier
Davidson rose in his saddle to an unusual height, as he looked back and
saw with undisguised pride, his brigade marching in, almost unbroken.
The landscape before us was indescribably beautiful. There lay the James
river, and spreading out between us and the river were the broad fields
of wheat; the fine country houses; the long avenues and roads lined with
rows of cedar trees; which last were almost in a moment stripped of
their branches to make beds for the soldiers.
There, crowded together, were the immense caravans of wagons,
ambulances, guns and pontoons, hugging the river, and the multitude of
men swarming over the plain. Long processions of sick and wounded men,
leaning on canes and crutches, their heavy steps and sunken faces now
for a moment lighted up at the thought that their melancholy pilgrimage
was nearly ended, filed by us; and battalions of cooks and special duty
men were wandering about in search of their commands.
The river was full of transports and gunboats, giving it the appearance
of the harbor of some commercial metropolis. Many of the hungry men,
without waiting for their rations to be brought by the commissary,
plunged into the stream, swam to the boats and there procured the
coveted food. But the greater number of our men, their powers completely
exhausted, without waiting for food, or to provide comfortable quarters,
lay down in the bed of mud and were soon in heavy slumbers.
Again, after a poor night's rest, the corps was marched to a new
position on the front line, where we remained to celebrate the
anniversary of the nation's birthday. A gloomy "Fourth of July" was this
to us, though every effort was made to keep up the spirits of the men.
Early in the morning the enemy opened a fire upon parts of our line, to
which our guns responded. A national salute had been ordered, and
precisely at the hour appointed, while the fighting was in progress, the
heavy guns were heard booming the salute. Our boys listened for a
moment, and then, as if all inspired with new life, they made the welkin
ring with their cheers. The bands, roused from their long inactivity,
pealed forth stirring national airs, and the Commander-in-Chief issued
an address to his array, in which he praised its gallantry and firmness,
declared that he himself had established the new line, and that if the
enemy would come upon us now we would convert his repulse into a final
defeat.
At home, a heavy gloom hung over the nation. The news of our retreat and
of the terrible battles, had been carried by the magic wires to the
remotest parts of the north; but few yet knew the fate of their friends
who were in the great army. It was enough that the siege of Richmond,
which had cost so much time and money, and, above all, so many thousands
of brave men, was abandoned, and the grand army, on which the hopes of
the nation hung, was now beleaguered, defending itself in an unhealthy
position, which offered little advantage for anything but defense.
Sympathizers with the rebellion secretly rejoiced and openly prophesied
the speedy destruction of our army by the scorching sun and poisoned
air, even if left to itself by the rebels.
The cause of all these disastrous circumstances was by some attributed
to unwise interference, on the part of the authorities in Washington,
with the plans of the chief of our army. They claimed that the
President, Secretary of War and the Major General commanding all the
armies of the Union, had, in the words of General McClellan, "done what
they could to defeat this army." They complained loudly that
reinforcements had been withheld, and that McDowell, with a large force,
had been kept unemployed in the vicinity of Fredericksburgh, when his
corps would have thrown the balance of strength upon our side. Others
claimed that the whole campaign had been sadly mismanaged by a commander
who had, as they insisted, never seen his army fight; who had invariably
found employment elsewhere than on the field of battle when fighting was
to be done, and whose character as a soldier was made up of doubts and
hesitancies.
Six weeks of camp life, dreary, sickly and monotonous, succeeded our
arrival at Harrison's Bar.
Our corps proceeded to the work of throwing up strong intrenchments and
mounting guns. Our Third brigade, Second division, constructed an
extensive fort, in which several very heavy guns were mounted; each of
the regiments taking their turn at the labor. In our front the forests
were slashed for a great distance, and thousands of sturdy wood-cutters
plied their heavy blows, sweltering under the burning rays of the sun.
Sickness became almost universal. The men were worn out with the
tremendous labors which they had performed since their arrival on the
Peninsula; they were burned by almost unendurable heat; they were nearly
devoured by the countless myriads of flies and other annoying insects;
and they were forced to drink impure and unwholesome water. It was not
strange that hundreds died in camp, and that hundreds more, with the
seeds of death implanted in their constitutions, went to their homes in
the north to breathe out their lives in the midst of their friends, or
languished in the large government hospitals at Washington, and other
cities.
Leaves of absence were given freely, and thousands availed themselves of
the opportunity of visiting their homes and recruiting their health. The
men, with the patience which none but soldiers ever exhibit, went
quietly to work to render their situation as tolerable as possible.
Wells were dug in the camps, from which they procured better water than
they were able to get at first, and small pines were brought and set
among the tents, by which some degree of protection was afforded against
the burning sun. On the morning of the 8th of July, the monotony was
broken by the arrival of President Lincoln. The booming of artillery
announced his coming, and the heartfelt cheers of the soldiers assured
him of a welcome.
The President, after spending a few hours at the head-quarters of the
army, proceeded to review the various corps. He was accompanied by
General McClellan, and many officers of note. Everywhere he received an
enthusiastic welcome from the men, who regarded him as their warm
friend. He manifested great emotion as he rode along the lines and saw
that the regiments, which but a few weeks before had left Washington
with full ranks, were now mere skeletons of regiments. Evening drew its
mantle over the scene, and the review was closed by moonlight.
Little occurred to relieve the monotony of the six weeks of camp life at
Harrison's Bar, except the events of which we have spoken; a
demonstration by the enemy during the night of the 31st, and an advance
to Malvern Hill by General Hooker's division. On the former occasion,
the troops were startled from their slumbers about midnight, by the
sudden discharge of a battery of artillery from the south side of the
James. The rebels had succeeded in getting a force in position there,
and they now opened a vigorous fire upon our shipping and our camps.
Their shells flew among us in disagreeable proximity, and the long lines
of fire traced upon the midnight sky lent a certain charm to the
dangerous business. Our gunboats answered the fire; and after two hours
of exciting work drove the rebels from their position. Some infantry was
taken across the river, who hastened the retreat of the enemy, burned
the buildings near the shore, and cut down the trees, that they might
not in future afford concealment for the rebels.
General Hooker's reconnoissance resulted in his occupying Malvern Hill
for a day or two, having a brisk skirmish with the enemy and returning
to camp.
Our active and gallant Brigadier-General Davidson was, early in August,
relieved from the command of our Third brigade, and ordered to the
department of Missouri. Notwithstanding the severity of his discipline,
and his occasional forgetfulness that men could not accomplish as much
physical labor as horses--for the general had always been a cavalry
officer--his never-tiring energy, his undoubted bravery, and his
interest and pride in his brigade, had endeared him to the men. During
the severe trials on the Chickahominy, and on the retreat, the general
had taken an unusual interest in the brigade, and had made himself
personally acquainted with nearly all the members of his command.
The general took command of a cavalry division in Missouri; where his
name became a terror to all secessionists in that part of the country.
The command devolved upon Lieutenant-Colonel Corning of the Thirty-third
New York, then senior officer of the brigade, who was soon succeeded by
Colonel W. H. Irwin, of the Forty-ninth Pennsylvania Volunteers.
Reinforcements began to arrive from Washington, and our army, in August,
numbered one hundred and twenty thousand men. With these, and a few
thousand more, General McClellan declared his belief that he could repel
the enemy and advance into Richmond.
Let us for a moment turn to the fortunes of the regiment with which we
left Saratoga, and whose early history we have traced. In all the
stirring events which have transpired in the division and corps, the
Seventy-seventh has acted an important and honorable part. Always ready
to perform the duties demanded of it; always in its place when danger
was greatest; ever cheerfully obeying the commands of superiors, it has
assumed no honor above its fellows, but proudly claimed to be the peer
of such noble regiments as the Sixth Maine, the Fifth Wisconsin, the
Thirty-third New York, and other bright stars in the galaxy of the Sixth
corps; ornaments to it and the army. "It is a little regiment," said
General Davidson to a member of Governor Morgan's staff, who came to
look after the interests of the New York troops, "but it is always in
the right place." The general regarded the regiment with especial favor,
and was accustomed to call it "my little Seventy-seventh." Since the
arrival of the army on the Peninsula the experiences of the regiment
have been varied. With the other regiments of Smith's division, it has
spent a month at Yorktown, within musket shot of the enemy. At
Williamsburgh it, with other regiments of its brigade, supported
batteries in front of Fort Magruder, and when, in the afternoon, it
received the order to go with the Forty-ninth to the assistance of
Hancock, it started forward with cheers; the men going through the mud
at double quick. But when the two regiments arrived on the field, their
gallant brothers of Hancock's and of their own brigade, had nobly
accomplished the work in which they would gladly have assisted. We have
seen how gallantly the regiment routed the rebels at Mechanicsville;
capturing a flag and other trophies; and when on the Chickahominy
Smith's division held the line closest upon the enemy, it bravely
assumed its part of the labor and danger. A portion of the regiment on
picket on the 28th of June, exhibited sterling heroism, and we need
hardly refer to the noble sacrifice of the brave young soldier John Ham.
Disease and exhaustion had made terrible inroads upon the
Seventy-seventh. Instead of nearly a thousand men with which we came to
the Peninsula, inspection in the middle of June showed only about two
hundred and fifty men present for duty. Although this regiment had from
the very beginning occupied an exposed position in the very front line;
although it composed a part of Smith's division, which has already
become famous both in the Union and rebel armies for being always in
closest proximity to the enemy, yet it had thus far lost very few men in
battle. All the rest of those now absent had been stricken down by
fevers, or worn out by the exhausting labors and exposures of the
campaign.
[Illustration: James B. McKean--Col. 77th Regt. NYSV.]
Among those attacked by typhoid fever was Colonel McKean. After
suffering a few days in the vain hope of soon being able to place
himself again at the head of his regiment, he was removed from the
poisonous atmosphere of the swamps to Washington, and thence to his home
in Saratoga. The men looked upon his departure with sincere regret, for
they not only respected him as an able commander, but loved him for his
never failing interest in their welfare. He had been to the regiment in
the capacity of commander and father. His leave of the regiment was
destined to be final; for except as an occasional visitor he never
returned to it; and after many months of suffering, his constitution
undermined, and his health permanently destroyed, he was forced to
relinquish the command. But though forced to leave the field, the men of
his regiment never ceased to cherish feelings of love and respect for
their first commander. They had witnessed his bravery on the field, and
they now knew that he was contending with disease with the same
fortitude that had marked his course in the army. The departure of
Colonel McKean from the service was not only a great loss to his
regiment but to the whole corps; for he was not only a brave officer,
but a gentleman of superior intellectual endowments. Another of the
sufferers from typhoid fever was Lieutenant Bowe, a young man of fine
abilities and greatly beloved by his regiment. After several weeks of
absence, he returned to camp on the 18th of July restored to health. On
the very next day, while standing with several officers in a tent, he
was fatally wounded by an accidental shot from a pistol. His father,
hearing of the sad occurrence, came for him and removed him from camp;
but only to see him expire in a few days.
Changes occurred among the officers. The lieutenant-colonel and major
left the service, the first by resignation, the other by dismissal.
Adjutant French was made major, and afterwards lieutenant-colonel, which
office he held during the remainder of the term of the regiment. He
assumed command of the regiment on his return to it after the battle of
Antietam, and continued in command while it was a regiment. Captains and
lieutenants also resigned. Chaplain Tully and Quartermaster Shurtliff
departed for their homes, having left the service. Lieutenant Hayward
was made quartermaster, a position for which he was eminently qualified,
and which he thenceforward held to the great satisfaction of the entire
regiment.