Chapter XII: Part X: The Seven Days' Retreat, 1862 (2)

We marched on toward the place we were to occupy and, when near it, we passed a curious little battery which was stationed alongside of a barn. They were busy firing. I had remarked this battery a few times when it passed us on the road, while we were marching up the peninsula. It consisted of a small gun-carriage and limber drawn by two horses; on the gun-carriage was mounted a single steel barrel, somewhat longer and heavier than an ordinary gun-barrel, but of about the same calibre; there was a cranked handle to turn and a hopper to receive cartridges. The soldiers named it the "coffee-mill battery." It really looked like a large coffee-mill mounted on wheels, except for the barrel. It required the services of three men to fire the gun--one to feed cartridges into the hopper, another to raise or depress the barrel and swing it right or left in a quarter-circle and to take aim, while the third man turned the crank which caused the explosion of the charges. I think there were six of these guns, and their pop-pop-pop was quite rapid and continuous as we passed by them. They were the elementary production of the later inventions--the mitrailleuse and gatling guns. They disappeared soon after that from the Army of the Potomac and I never saw them in action again.

When we reached our position along a wide and deep ravine, it was almost dark and objects at some distance could only be distinguished with difficulty. An irresolute fire was opened upon us from the opposite side of the ravine, to which we immediately replied, although all we could see of the foe were the flashes of their guns, which stopped in about ten minutes after which we received the command to cease firing. Half a dozen were wounded in this short engagement, but none killed. We remained silent in our position, awaiting a possible attack, hearing very plainly some of the commands given by the Rebel officers on the opposite side of the dark ravine. From the ravine itself, we heard groans and cries of wounded men who were evidently Rebels, for one among them, probably an officer, in his delirium sometimes cried out, "Charge, Ninth Georgia!"

The firing on other parts of the line of battle did not cease entirely for an hour or more, and then the enemy seemed to have retired, leaving us completely victorious. I think it must have been much later than ten o'clock, when the word was quietly passed along the ranks to quit our position and creep back as silently as possible. I did this a part of the way, then went the rest of the distance in a crouching position, until we were halted and re-formed our line. Then we marched a little farther, halted again, and sat on the ground, resting and wondering what these movements meant.

Later, the first sergeant of my company called me and conducted me to the adjutant, who ordered me to make my way to the Malvern house, where one of our lieutenants and a company of our men had been left as a guard at the general hospital, and to inform the officer to hold himself and his men in readiness to rejoin the regiment when it passed during the night or morning. Since we were in the field I had been selected several times for special duties, but I did not like this one in the least. I knew the general direction of the Malvern house, whence we had come, and if I could gain the Quaker Road the rest would be easy. But to reach this road it was necessary to cross some fields and a piece of woods, and it struck me I had a good chance of being shot by some picket, or getting lost and being taken prisoner.

The sky was overcast and the night dark. I made my way cautiously towards the woods and just before reaching them passed over an elevated piece of ground, where evidently one of our batteries had been stationed during the day. I inferred this from a number of dead horses, some with their stiffened legs up in the air, and among them a few dark forms which I knew but too well were the bodies of artillerists. I hurried over this place and gained the edge of the woods--which I dreaded the most on account of pickets, but was not challenged. I halted a moment and listened, thinking I heard the clatter of accoutrements and the heavy tramp of marching men. I knew that this could only be some of our army and felt much relieved.

Presently I was among them on the Quaker Road, for the woods proved to be shallow. These soldiers belonged to another corps and were retreating very reluctantly toward the James river. There was much grumbling among them; they wondered why, after a victory and with a retiring enemy, they were ordered to leave a strong position. We learned later that some of the corps commanders had importuned General McClellan to hold Malvern Hill, but the General ruled against it, giving as his reason the difficulty of supplying the army in that location.

I reached the Malvern house a little before midnight and found a sentinel who directed me to the lieutenant in charge. He was fast asleep. I awakened him and repeated the adjutant's orders. He ordered some of the men to watch the road near the corner of the house and notify him when the regiment appeared. On looking around I saw that the house was brightly lighted and there was much commotion caused by officers and orderlies rushing in and out of General Porter's headquarters; it was also the principal hospital, and in the out-buildings and some tents I could see surgeons attending the wounded and performing amputations by candle-light, while the ground back of the house was covered with wounded soldiers.

I did not tarry long to look at this heart-rending scene, but made my way along the front of the house and the out-houses. I was hungry and was looking around to find something to eat. My haversack was almost empty; and I knew the necessity of saving something for the morrow, as we were not likely to get any rations until we came to our supply trains. As we had not been able to make coffee for some days, I had plenty of that and sugar, but I had no meat and only a few crackers, so I prowled around until I observed a half dozen soldiers near the corner of a fence where there was a heap of boxes and barrels, which proved to be commissary stores left unguarded and probably forgotten. I joined the group and found them dipping their tin cups into a barrel, of which they had knocked in the head, and filling their canteens with what I knew from the odor to be whiskey. This seemed a heaven-sent opportunity and one not to be neglected. I emptied my canteen of water and filled it with whiskey. Some boxes of hard-tack had been opened, from which I filled my haversack. There were still some barrels of whiskey, also barrels of pork, which the group decided it would be unsafe to break open on account of the noise it would make. I dipped my quart cup into the barrel once more and hurried away with it in my hand, returning to the guard with whom I shared its contents. I kept silent regarding my canteen, however. I did not dare tell my comrades where I got the liquor, for fear some of them would become intoxicated; so I was forced to invent a tale of having received it from one of the hospital stewards, who was a friend of mine. I took especial care to guard my canteen with its precious contents, then wrapped myself in my blanket and went to sleep among my comrades.

I was awakened at daylight when our brigade approached. We hurried to the road and waited until the regiment came along, then joined its ranks. Sykes's division was again covering the retreat of the army. The First Brigade, under Colonel Buchannan, formed the rear guard while our brigade immediately preceded them. It was storming, as it generally did after a battle, and the rain soon came down in torrents, wetting us to the skin in a few minutes. It was a cold, chilly rain which lasted all day.

The army had been retreating from a defeated enemy on this road all night, again leaving many of our wounded behind. By the time we reached Haxall's and the bottom-lands, we found the road in a frightful condition. Cut up as it had been by thousands of wagons and artillery, it was now a liquid quagmire from the torrential rain. We tore down fences and crossed fields to avoid some impassable places. We waded through many ditches and small streams, often knee-deep, and had many halts and interruptions, often coming to a halt in a part of the road where it was impossible to sit down for a much-needed rest, unless we should sit in mud nearly a foot deep. My shoes were soon filled with gritty liquid mud which chafed the skin and made marching very painful and distressing. At one time I just saved myself from falling, while crossing a stream, and my rifle slipped from my grasp and was submerged in the muddy water. I doubt if I could have discharged it if I had needed to do so.

I cannot describe our misery and suffering on this day, the seventh of the retreat, and by far the worst of all. We had reached the limit of endurance, weakened as we were by battles, marching and want of food. We had become callous and cared little what became of those who dropped out from exhaustion or of small squads of wounded men who were limping painfully along the road, sometimes being knocked down and crying out in anguish for help. The rule of self-preservation had a deplorable demonstration on this awful day.

Several times we formed line of battle in the fields, ready to repel the enemy who pursued and harassed the rear guard just behind us. Stuart's Rebel cavalry and a light battery of artillery followed us all day and occasionally sent a few shells into our ranks. We also had cavalry with the rear guard who skirmished with the enemy, and a battery of regular artillery which more than once took up a commanding position beside the road and with our cavalry kept the enemy in check. During the forenoon, while at a long halt, I gave Lieutenant McLoughlin, who now commanded my company (and the only company officer present at this time, Lieutenant Kidd having been wounded) a drink of whiskey from my canteen and he declared I had saved his life. He laughed when I explained how I had got it, but remarked that I was lucky not to have been caught. I took a big drink myself which cheered me, wet and shivering as I was; the remainder I doled out to my comrades, as far as it would go, and for that day at least I was the most popular member of the company.

We reached Harrison's Landing while it was still daylight. Although the distance was not more than about eight miles, it had taken us twelve hours to make it owing to the state of the roads, the frequent halts and the forming of line of battle several times during the day. We halted at the edge of an immense wheat field which I think must have been a mile square. Only a small part of this field had been cut and stacked in sheaves. It still rained hard. My bunkie and I decided to put up our shelter tent for the first time in seven days. We gathered a thick layer of the wet sheaves and lay down in our wet clothing, sleeping soundly all night. We could not make any coffee, but were surprised and cheered by an issue of hard-tack and a gill of whiskey during the evening and the promise of some meat on the morrow; which was a great comfort to us in our despondent condition.

Next morning, July third, directly after reveille, a Rebel battery commenced throwing shells into our camp from a hill which overlooked it. We formed line of battle, advanced a short distance and remained under arms until the firing ceased in a short time, the battery being driven away and the hill occupied by a Maine regiment. This was the finish of the seven days' retreat, or "change of base," as General McClellan preferred to name it. No large body of the Rebel Army had followed us from Malvern Hill, where they had received such a crushing blow that they retired within the fortifications of Richmond to recuperate, leaving only small reconnoitering parties to observe us.

After the firing had ceased and while we were still standing in ranks, a private of my company stepped into the bushes just behind us and presently we heard a shot; and he came running out, holding up a bleeding hand and crying, "I am wounded. Take me to the hospital!" But he ran so fast, it would have been hard to catch him. We found his rifle in the bushes, apparently just discharged, which left no doubt that this was a case of self-mutilation, fortunately of rare occurrence, so far as I knew; but I heard of a few cases where the mutilation took place during battle. This soldier never rejoined his company, which was well for him. The fear of the contempt of his comrades is even more powerful a factor than discipline in keeping a timid or nerveless soldier in the ranks during battle.

As we looked at each other while in ranks, we were amazed at the shocking appearance both officers and rank and file presented after the strenuous week we had passed through. Our clothing was torn and shapeless and coated with sticky mud from head to foot; our faces and hands were grimy with powder and dirt, for few had had opportunity to wash themselves for a week. Several who were slightly wounded wore bandages. Our guns were rusty but serviceable. Some had lost their knapsacks and some a part of their accoutrements, and upon all the faces there was a gaunt and weary look which plainly told the story of our endurance. Of the great field of wheat which I had seen the evening before, scarcely any remained that had not been trampled down during the night by soldiers and horses.

The rain had ceased, but the sky was still clouded and the day cheerless. During the forenoon we marched to a point within about a mile and a half of Harrison's Landing and the brigade encamped on low ground on the border of a sluggish and boggy creek, where we were destined to remain for many weeks sweltering under the great heat of the summer.

The first advance upon Richmond had failed, as did also the second under General Grant two years later, when he operated on substantially the same ground against the same enemy reduced in number and resources. Military writers and historians have accused General McClellan of grave errors in the Peninsula Campaign; but some of them accuse the Administration at Washington, together with the Joint Committee of Congress on the conduct of the war, of graver errors and blame them as being the real cause for the unsuccessful termination of this campaign. That the Army of the Potomac, made up of as fine and intelligent soldiers as ever took the field, remained as true and loyal to its commander after this campaign as it had been before, proved beyond question that it had not lost confidence in him.

The "retreat" to the James river was not a retreat in the usual sense of the word; we kept our formation, all our movements were directed by General McClellan and there never was a rout. We fought daily battles in all of which, except that of Gaines's Mill, we were successful in checking the enemy and keeping them at bay until a new position was gained. We lost none of our artillery, except in battle, and we saved all of our heavy siege guns and our immense wagon-train preceded the army. All this was done in an unknown, swampy country with few roads upon which a great army could march and make any rapid progress, even if unpursued by a determined enemy. The enemy's losses in the seven days' battles were greater than ours by nearly four thousand men, according to authorities.

The battle of Gaines's Mill, although not ranking as one of the great battles of the war, was remarkable, being the one with the greatest disparity in numbers. When the battle commenced General Porter had only the Fifth Army Corps, consisting of less than twenty thousand men, to oppose double their number, and it was not until late in the afternoon that Slocum's division of seven thousand reinforced him. For four hours the powerful enemy tried in vain to break our lines and it was not until near sundown that, reinforced by General Jackson's troops, augmenting their numbers to more than sixty-five thousand, against our less than thirty thousand actually engaged, they succeeded in breaking our line in the center; and when darkness ended the battle they had only advanced as far as the ground previously occupied by our reserves. The losses of the Fifth Army Corps during the seven days were about seventy-six hundred, of whom forty-eight hundred were killed and wounded and twenty-eight hundred captured or missing. My battalion, consisting of six companies of the Second United States Infantry, about three hundred and fifty present for duty, lost two officers who were killed and four wounded; fourteen soldiers killed, one hundred and three wounded, and sixteen captured or missing--total, one hundred and thirty-nine, more than one-third of our number.

I had no clear idea at the time of the distance the army had covered during the seven days' retreat and I was astonished when twenty years later I made the trip with a friend from Richmond to Haxall's, following the route of the army in a single day, and had sufficient time to take a number of photographs. We had a carriage and a pair of good horses. The coachman was black, but his name was White. We remained on Malvern Hill until dark, when we went to Haxall's to spend the night, much to the relief of Charlie White, who showed great terror as we passed through the dark and gloomy woods on our route which he said were full of ghosts. He declared that "sodjer ghosts" marched on this road until daylight.

In my narration of events which occurred during McClellan's Peninsular Campaign I have tried to describe in detail a soldier's experience in camp, on the march, in battle and when retreating before a pursuing foe, as accurately as my memory permits after an interval of more than fifty years. I consider that campaign unsurpassed in hardship, suffering and endurance by any subsequent campaign while I was in the Army of the Potomac, unless perhaps it be the battle of Fredericksburg and General Burnside's "Mud-March," both of which occurred in winter time. I therefore deem it superfluous to burden the remainder of my narrative with similar details.