CHAPTER VI.
NOBODY HOME AT YORKTOWN.
THIS, my son, is an exact portrait of the general who sat behind the great sand heaps at Yorktown, smoking his pipe, and gave our George so much trouble. George and he had been old friends and playmates at school, where they had played pitch and toss in a harmless way. So it is natural to suppose they knew each other's game perfectly well. George took the hint given him by the old women along the road, and when he got to Yorktown he saw clear enough that his old friend Johnston was playing a game of brag with his big sand hills. And to show Mr. Johnston that he was not to be outdone in that line of art, George, when he had settled his army down in the soft ground, went to work satisfying the nation that he could build just as big sand heaps as any other general. In short, my son, George found himself in a worse predicament than he was in at Manassas, for his friend Johnston had a large army, and stronger works than Mr. Beauregard left behind him. So his army laid down its guns, and took up the spade, and went largely into the ditching and dyking business. He made sand heaps bigger than Mr. Johnston's, and stretched them all the way across the Peninsula, so that there was no getting on either side of him. And when he had done this he mounted them with the biggest cannon, which he intended to fire when he got them all up; so as to make a magnificent display of substantial fire-works, and in that way frighten Mr. Johnston out of town. So careful was George not to do his old friend any bodily injury before he got all his guns mounted, that he would only exchange compliments with him at morning and evening, when few shells would be tossed backward and forward, just to preserve what was called the etiquette of war. I have sometimes thought these compliments were exchanged with the very best of motives, intended only to change the monotony of camp life with a little excitement.
When George and his army had toiled hard for nearly a month, had thrown up a whole mountain of sand hills, and kept on crying for more soldiers, and had got almost all his guns mounted; and was just ready to bring Yorktown down about Mr. Johnston's ears, with a grand display of substantial fireworks, that general made up his mind not to be served in that way. Nor would he accommodate George by waiting to see his grand display of fireworks. No, my son, he was not the man to be caught at a disadvantage, or waste powder unnecessarily. Some kind friend informed him of George's intentions, so he packed up his baggage one night, and moved himself off, leaving Yorktown and his sand hills as a legacy to George, who was very much disappointed at being treated so shabbily by his old friend and playmate.
People said General Johnston was a cunning fox, and not to be caught in any trap our George could set. But George, like the Irishman, had a deal of pluck, and a big heart, and, above both, a great deal of chivalry. Now he was anxious that his old friend should not go away so shabbily, but come back, and either breakfast with him or accommodate him with a fight. So he sent his rough-riders after him, and they proceeded at a rapid pace, and came up with him on the outskirts of Williamsburg, where General Johnston prepared to fight rather than come to breakfast. There both armies came together, and a great battle was fought, which lasted two days. There was desperate fighting on both sides, and a great many were killed and wounded, and a great many more so badly frightened that they kept out of the fight, which they held to be a proof of their wisdom.
We gained a great victory over the rebels at Williamsburg, and made them feel so ashamed of themselves that they resumed their march backwards on the road to Richmond. And this battle and this victory attached our good Union soldiers more closely to General George. Indeed, my son, they loved him, and looked up to him as a dutiful child does to a kind father. They marched up the Peninsula singing his praises. And now, my son, let me enjoin you that whenever you hear the names of Generals Hancock and Kearney mentioned, respect and revere them, for never was American valor more beautifully illustrated than by those generals on the field at Williamsburg.
Then General George sent the right wing of his grand army, under General Franklin, by water, to West Point, where he fought a battle with General Johnston's rear-guard, and gained another victory. Then both armies moved leisurely along, up the Peninsula, in a manner not to make the marching uncomfortable. It rained a great deal, and the roads were bad, and the enemy resolved not to be hurried. And our Government, which was not so wise in war matters then as it got to be in time, was not disposed to do anything that might change General Johnston's resolution. In fine, our Government seemed to have quite as big a quarrel with General George as it had with the rebels, and the politicians held it of more importance to destroy our own general than the rebel army. The Government was just as fair as fair could be in making promises to General George. But then the Government seemed to have a short memory, and forgot its promises almost as soon as it had made them. It promised to send General McDowell, who was not far away, to help George fight the rebels and take Richmond. But the Government forgot to do so; and instead, kept that gallant officer looking from the hills of Fredericksburg, to see if the rebels were coming in that direction. To tell you the truth, my son, our Government was so afraid that the rebels would turn short around and take Washington, and make prisoners of its cabinet officers, that it made "look-out generals" of so many brave officers, who had troops under their command, that it had none to send General George to assist in taking Richmond. It may however, be a consolation to us to know that this would not have been the first time, in the history of the world, that fear had cost a great nation its fortunes and its glories.
General George marched leisurely along with his brave army until he came within four miles of Richmond, where there was a great swamp called the Chickahominy. The name of this swamp will be long remembered by our brave soldiers of the Army of the Potomac. The rain fell like a deluge, and flooded it; and it gave out deadly fevers, which brought death and tribulation on our army. And in this swamp our army fought the battle of Fair Oaks, and gained another grand victory over the enemy. But we had no means of following up this victory, and so its effect was lost to us. Then our army settled down into this deadly swamp, and wondered and waited for nearly a month, until our men got heart-sick and fever-stricken. We watched the enemy on the hills beyond; and the enemy watched us in the swamp. And we waited until the enemy had brought all his forces up into Richmond, and General Lee, his best general, had taken command. Things began to look desperate with our George, and he began thinking how he should get safely out of the swamp and change his base. How was he to fight Mr. Lee with all his strength, when the strength we ought to have sent him was kept at a safe distance looking on? George saw that the glories of Williamsburg, of West Point, of Hanover Court House, and of Fair Oaks would have to be thrown away because the wisdom of the nation would not send us aid.
This, my son, was the day of our tribulation. The people were strong, and the army represented the people. I wish, my son, that I could say also that the Government was strong. But the army, if it was sick, had not lost its courage, nor its love for the general who commanded it.
General Lee then came out with his strong and powerful army and fought us at Gaines's Mill, where he beat us after a desperate battle. We might as well confess that we were beaten, and badly beaten, in that battle; and that we had to make the best we could of our defeat, and get across the Chickahominy Swamp as quick as we could, and turn our backs on it forever, for we had filled it with the graves of our brave soldiers. George was sanguine, had great confidence in the endurance of his army, and looked forward to the future with faith and hope. He did not want to acknowledge that he was beaten at Gaines's Mill; but the nation made up its mind that he was. Indeed, the nation could not comprehend the principle of generalship that claimed a victory, and at the same time made a change of base necessary in the face of an advancing enemy. But George got his army safe across the Chickahominy, though in some confusion, and instead of driving the enemy to the wall, as he had promised us he would do, the enemy began driving him to the James River.
Like the Irishman who had twice got his head broken, but was unwilling to say he was beaten, George continued to show General Lee that our army was still full of pluck.
So he turned round and thrashed the enemy right soundly at Savage's Station, at White Oak Swamp, and at Malvern Hill—just to show that he could do it. These are places, my son, you shall read of in history. And the glories of the battles fought at them shall become brighter and brighter as we contemplate them; and new lustre will shed on the names of the officers who fought them, and set such noble examples of courage to their men. It was George's misfortune that he fought these battles and gained these victories while his army was moving backward instead of forward—while seeking a place of safety instead of driving the enemy to seek one. This makes a great difference with the public, which does not generally study the rules of strategy, and does not like to see an army fall back after it has gained what its commander claims to be a great victory.