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.