John M. Brown
(War-time portrait)
In a short time the fighting became furious, done almost entirely on our side with small arms, as few positions could be found for artillery. For two or three hours the noise of the battle remained almost stationary, accentuated at intervals by the shouting of the combatants, as ground was lost or won. It was here that General Lee said to General Jackson, "That fire is very heavy! Do you think your men can stand it?" The reply was, "They can stand almost anything; they can stand that!" We stood expecting every moment to be ordered in, as every effort was made by our officers to find a piece of open ground on which we could unlimber. By sundown the firing had gradually lessened and was farther from us, and when night came on the enemy had been driven from their fortifications and quiet was restored. The loss on our side was fearful. Among the killed was my cousin, James Allen, colonel of the Second Virginia Regiment.
While lying among the guns in park that night my rest was frequently disturbed by the antics of one of the battery horses suffering with an attack of "blind staggers," and floundering around in the darkness among the sleeping men.
Before leaving our place of bivouac the next morning, a visit from General Lee, attended by his full staff, to his son Robert, gave us our first opportunity of seeing this grand man. The interview between father and son is described by the latter in his "Recollections and Letters of Gen. Robert E. Lee," which I quote:
"The day after the battle of Cold Harbor, during the 'Seven Days' fighting around Richmond, was the first time I met my father after I had joined General Jackson. The tremendous work Stonewall's men had performed, including the rapid march from the Valley of Virginia, the short rations, the bad water, and the great heat, had begun to tell upon us, and I was pretty well worn out. On this particular morning my battery had not moved from its bivouac ground of the previous night, but was parked in an open field, all ready waiting orders. Most of the men were lying down, many sleeping, myself among the latter number. To get some shade and to be out of the way I had crawled under a caisson, and was busy making up many lost hours of rest. Suddenly I was rudely awakened by a comrade, prodding me with a sponge-staff as I had failed to be aroused by his call, and was told to get up and come out, that some one wished to see me. Half-awake I staggered out, and found myself face to face with General Lee and his staff. Their fresh uniforms, bright equipments, and well-groomed horses contrasted so forcibly with the war-worn appearance of our command that I was completely dazed. It took me a moment or two to realize what it all meant, but when I saw my father's loving eyes and smile it became clear to me that he had ridden by to see if I was safe and to ask how I was getting along. I remember well how curiously those with him gazed at me, and I am sure that it must have struck them as very odd that such a dirty, ragged, unkempt youth could have been the son of this grand-looking, victorious commander.
"I was introduced recently to a gentleman, now living in Washington, who, when he found out my name, said he had met me once before and that it was on this occasion. At that time he was a member of the Tenth Virginia Infantry, Jackson's division, and was camped near our battery. Seeing General Lee and staff approach, he, with others, drew near to have a look at them, and witnessed the meeting between father and son. He also said that he had often told of the incident as illustrating the peculiar composition of our army."
As we moved on over the battlefield that morning, the number of slain on both sides was fully in proportion to the magnitude of the conflict of the day preceding. In a piece of woods through which we passed, and through which the battle had surged back and forth, after careful observation I failed to find a tree the size of a man's body with less than a dozen bullet-marks on it within six feet of the ground, and many of them were scarred to the tops. Not even the small saplings had escaped, yet some of the men engaged had passed through the battle untouched. I was with my messmate, William Bolling, when he here discovered and recognized the dead body of his former school-teacher, Wood McDonald, of Winchester.
On the 28th we crossed the Chickahominy on Grapevine Bridge, the long approaches to which were made of poles, thence across the York River Railroad at Savage Station. As we moved along, fighting was almost constantly heard in advance of us, and rumors were rife that the trap was so set as to capture the bulk of McClellan's army. Near White Oak Swamp we reached another battlefield, and, after night, went into bivouac among the enemy's dead. About ten o'clock I, with several others, was detailed to go back with some wagons, to get a supply of captured ammunition. For four or five miles we jolted over corduroy roads, loaded our wagons, and got back to the battery just before dawn of the following morning. Scarcely had I stretched myself on the ground when the bugle sounded reveille, and even those who had spent the night undisturbed were with difficulty aroused from sleep. I remember seeing Captain Poague go to a prostrate form that did not respond to the summons, and call out, "Wake up, wake up!" But, seeing no sign of stirring, he used his foot to give it a shake, when he discovered he was trying to rouse a dead Yankee! Having been on duty all night I was being left unmolested to the last moment, when Joe Shaner came to me, as usual, and very quietly rolled up my blanket with his, to be carried on his off-horse. This was the battlefield of White Oak Swamp, fought on June 30. Along the march from Cold Harbor we had passed several Federal field-hospitals containing their sick, some of them in tents, some lying in bunks made of poles supported on upright forks. These and their old camps were infested with vermin—"war bugs," as we usually called them—which, with what we already had after two weeks of constant march, with neither time nor material for a change, made us exceedingly uncomfortable.