[
85]
Chapter 12: McClellan's change of base.
The Seven day's retreat.
For several days speculation had been rife as to when the army would enter
Richmond.
Soon the news came of the disaster on the right.
The enemy had turned the right flank, supplies and trains were in danger and an immediate change of base must be made.
On Saturday, June 28, orders were given to prepare for a forced march.
Some of the men were told to throw away everything but gun and equipment, haversack, canteen and one piece of shelter tent, rubber or woolen blanket, and, in whatever they chose to carry, to wrap a change of underclothing.
Part of the tents were to be left standing and slit so that they would be of no use to the rebels.
Everything not carried was to be destroyed in some way. Everyone knew that this meant ‘retreat,’—where, they did not know.
At night the men lay down behind the breastwork, fully equipped for march or fight.
Although they had kept their spirits up and had been cheerful under the inspiring cry of ‘On to
Richmond,’ the hardships and exposures had been almost beyond human endurance.
Forced to live with their bodies bound up in military trappings day and night, constantly on duty, either on picket or in building fortifications in the rain or hot sun, with food of an inferior quality, much poorer than they ever got before or after, water that a beast would scorn to drink in
New England (always the color of a mud puddle in a northern road after a shower) and never cool, hundreds had been taken sick and carried to the general hospital.
For two weeks or more the air had been polluted by the hundreds of putrid corpses interred in shallow graves.
Now, at the end of the
[
86]
month, the men lay there, reduced in flesh and strength, in an unfit condition for an active campaign, waiting for the daylight to usher in one of the most trying and notable weeks they were destined to experience,—the Seven Days Battles and the change of base to the
James River.
There was despondency in all the army.
To be compelled to leave the vantage ground which they had gained was a plain acknowledgment of defeat and did not add to the morale.
During the early night of Saturday, June 28,
General Dana, commanding the brigade, called a conference of the
regimental commanders, at which the situation was discussed.
All the rest of the army had been withdrawn and
Dana's Brigade was left as rear guard, with orders to remain until daylight.
Fortunately a heavy fog settled over both lines, and, at the appointed hour on Sunday, June 29, the brigade withdrew, the enemy not daring to attack as anticipated, owing to their uncertainty as to the circumstances.
As the men marched away from their camping place, great stacks of boxes of hard bread, piles of dried apples, bags of coffee and barrels of whiskey were passed.
They were being burned and destroyed to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy.
(It was hard to see so much food abandoned, when the regiment had been on short rations.
A little more issued to the men and less to the flames would have pleased everyone.)
As soon as the fog had lifted, the enemy discovered that the rear guard had left the fortifications at
Fair Oaks.
They followed from the roads leading out of
Richmond and came up with the forces at
Peach Orchard, one of those long, undulating fields surrounded by woods in which
Virginia abounds, and which are so perfectly fitted for defence.
Regiments of infantry and batteries of artillery filed into this field until it was filled, except for the side toward the enemy and this side was commanded at every point.
The Third Brigade, Second Division, had formed in line of battle on a ridge on the southern side of the field, just at the edge of the wood.
At the right of the Nineteenth Massachusetts was
Tompkin's Battery A, First Rhode Island Artillery.
The men lay here at rest, listening to the crackling of the fire
[
87]
beyond the woods at the north of the field, where the supplies were being consumed.
Here the regiment rested until about eight o'clock, anxiously waiting for—they knew not what.
Suddenly the yells of the rebels were heard as they entered the woods.
Then all was silent in front and nothing could be heard but the rumbling of the artillery wheels as the troops moved over the grassy plains, taking up positions from which to meet the expected onslaught.
Everyone knew that the storm would soon burst, but whether it would be a shower or a tornado, they could not tell.
Hark! The skirmishers met, and, pop, pop, pop went the muskets, the firing increasing in rapidity as the
Union men gradually fell back until there was one tremendous crash as the two first lines of battle met. This was followed by a continuous roar as the work of death went on. Men came running out of the woods, across the field and up the slope.
Some of them were wounded, all reporting that the rebels were coming in swarms.
One came up groaning, with his skin burned off both legs to the knee.
He had tried to fill his canteen with whiskey from the burning pile of stores and when the barrel burst it scattered the
burning fluid over his limbs, consuming his trousers to the knees and burning his legs to a blister.
The battle became hot and the line seemed to be gradually falling back, when
Tompkin's Battery on the right was ordered to fire into the enemy's reserves over the heads of the men of the Nineteenth and the others of
McClellan's Army.
The commander gave the order to load, then, riding from the right to the left, he ordered ‘No. 1, Fire; No. 2, Fire; No. 3, Fire; No.4, Fire,’ and the work went on, the men finally loading and firing at will, being answered by the rebel artillery.
The Nineteenth, being so near, got its share of the shells from the enemy.
They came screeching over, bursting in front and rear, on each side and above them, while the rebel line advanced so near during its charge that bullets from their muskets reached them also, making the situation very unpleasant, as the men lay there without an opportunity to take part and in constant danger from flying pieces of shell and stray bullets.
[
88]
In a short time the firing ceased, the enemy having had enough, and they drew back to wait for a more favorable opportunity.
At about three o'clock the artillery limbered up, pickets were withdrawn and the troops started again on a doublequick march down the railroad, the baggage train having got a considerable distance away.
The heat was intense and many men fell out and were taken by the enemy.
The track was hemmed in on both sides by steep, gravelly banks and thick woods and infantry and artillery scampered over the sleepers, the horses bumping the pieces and caissons first over one rail and then over the other, each turn of the wheel threatening to throw everything topsy turvy.
Lieutenant Prime of Company C, who had long been ill, succumbed to the tremendous strain and was obliged to let the
Company march away from him. He kept moving on, but gradually lost ground.
He and
Lieutenant Bachelder had become fast friends,—like brothers,— and tears stood in the latter's eyes as he turned to see his comrade being left behind. (
Lieutenant Prime rejoined the regiment at
Harrison's Landing.)
Lieutenant Hume was also compelled to drop out and was left behind, being captured by the pursuing enemy.
The rays of the sun fell full upon the men as they marched down the railroad track, with not a breath of air stirring.
The sick and wounded had been brought along with much difficulty.
Many knapsacks and overcoats,—even haversacks containing their rations,—were thrown away as constituting too heavy a load.
Capt. Ansel D. Wass was affected by the great heat and some of the officers and men were exhausted and forced to lie down by the side of the track.
After marching for some hours in this manner, the regiment halted in an open space in front of Savage's Station, and the order to rest was given.
It was an agreeable order and the men, breaking ranks, looked about for shade and water.
When the snow white tents of the field hospital were pitched they looked very picturesque and inviting, with their new
camp cots regularly placed, but ever present was the thought that they were only intended for the reception of the wounded from
[
89]
the battle which was momentarily expected.
Even as the thought suggested itself, the enemy's shells came over and fell among the troops.
The ground descended rapidly toward the
West where the regiment lay upon its arms, holding the right of
Dana's line on the railroad and watching the wagon trains hurrying to a place of safety.
The woods toward
Peach Orchard were full of the enemy who were constantly firing.
The dust in the road in front was ankle deep and rose in dense clouds, enveloping everything.
The men were exhausted and many were ill.
During the
battle at Peach Orchard, the band and field musicians of the regiment were busily employed at the field hospital of the 3rd Brigade, 2nd Division, 2nd Corps, in carrying the wounded from the field and caring for them, also in assisting to build operating benches for the surgeons.
At about 10 A. M., there was a sudden stopping on the firing line and
Surgeon Revere of the Twentieth Massachusetts, in charge of the brigade field hospital, ordered principal
musician Stephen I. Newman of the Nineteenth to go forward and ascertain the meaning of the cessation.
As
Newman reached the spot where his regiment had been stationed, to his surprise, not only that regiment but the entire Second Corps had moved toward Savage's Station and were nowhere in sight.
There were a number of wounded who had been left behind, near the halting place at the railroad.
When the condition of affairs had been reported to
Surgeon Revere, he immediately ordered that saplings and straight, slim branches suitable for stretcher poles be cut, also that pieces of shelter tents be collected with which to construct stretchers on which to carry the wounded to a safer location.
Field Musicians
Lord and
McCammon, of Company A, each carried a hatchet for this purpose.
Some musicians in the bands of the Third Brigade had been heard to say that all the regimental bands in the volunteer regiments were to be mustered out of the service on or before August 21, 1862.
Principal
Musician Newman reported this fact to
Surgeon Revere and suggested that the safety and care of the wounded men was of more importance than a few old
[
90]
brass
musical instruments.
The surgeon at once issued orders that musicians of the Third Brigade should carry the wounded to Savage's Station hospital and abandon their instruments, unless they could carry them easily.
Quite a number of the larger instruments were rendered useless and abandoned as a result.
1
A considerable body of troops were in front, covering the approach to
White Oak Swamp.
Continual explosions had been heard at the front for some time and the cause was soon learned, for a long train of ammunition was found to be in flames, fired by order of the general commanding, to keep it out of the hands of the enemy.
This continued burning far into the night, the many colored clouds of dense smoke filling the heavens.
One ammunition train was run into the river through the opening in the bridge.
The regiment was posted on an incline at the right of the road, forming in line facing the
[
91]
burning train, which made a grand spectacle.
As the explosions began, great cone-shaped clouds of steam and smoke arose above the trees and gradually expanded, floated away in trembling masses of white vapor over the field.
The engine was disconnected, its throttle opened, and it disappeared through the bridge, landing in the river.
Very soon afterward the battle became hot again in the woods through which the regiment had passed and the line was gradually pressed back until stray bullets from the enemy reached the position of the regiment.
A rebel battery appeared in the edge of the woods at the left and began to make things uncomfortable.
Just as darkness began to creep over the land, a body of troops marched to the rear of the Nineteenth and formed a line.
It was the ‘Irish Brigade.’
The men of the regiment looked on to see them form and they appeared, in the growing darkness, like phantom lines.
They then marched down the gentle slope, silently and swiftly, until they were lost to view in the darkness.
Their mission was to take care of the battery which was so annoying to the Third Brigade.
A scattering fire had been kept up all the time.
Soon a tremendous shout was heard, which was met by an answering yell and the rattle of musketry became a roar.
All knew then that the Irish boys were ‘At them.’
The fire of the battery suddenly ceased and the musketry fire grew fainter and fainter as it receded in the distance.
Soon after, the firing became more general and the roar of artillery and the clatter of small arms almost deafening.
One or two lines formed in the woods and two in the plain below.
Only two regiments of the Third Brigade remained on the hill, the Nineteenth Massachusetts being one of them.
So far, it had just escaped a fight the second time.
At about 9 P. M. the artillery limbered up and marched.
The lines withdrew and the regiment started in the rain on a march of eight miles. So silently was this done that the pickets were surprised, on coming in, to find the regiment gone and the rear guard marched for three hours before catching up.
