Three years in the Sixth Corps

by George T. Stevens

Now the rebels came on with determination, but their attack was met by volley after volley of musketry aimed for effect; and our well directed fire of artillery made great gaps in the advancing lines. The attack was nobly repulsed, and many grey-coated soldiers who advanced to the charge, were left by their retreating comrades, dead between the two lines, while others were ordered in as prisoners. The rebels returned to their place, and again all was still. From this time we had no more battles at Coal Harbor, yet we daily lost many men by the shots of the sharpshooters who were perched in trees, and who kept up a fire at every moving thing which showed itself within our lines.

Never before had our army been in a position where there was such constant danger as at Coal Harbor. Men in the front line dared not leave the cover of the breastworks except in the darkness of night, and even then the movement of a company to the rear might bring on a storm of shells. High breastworks were thrown up at all angles with the main line, and deep trenches were dug, in which the men might pass to and from the front without being observed. Even with all these extraordinary precautions, no man was safe in venturing to go to the rear by daylight. If a soldier collected the canteens of his companions and started to the rear for water, he was obliged to crawl along the trenches with the utmost secrecy, and even then he was liable to be shot. Not a day passed, even when there was no battle, in which scores of men were not killed or brought to the hospitals with severe wounds.

The whole plain occupied by our army was dug over. Far to the rear the men had intrenched themselves. General officers had their tents erected in deep excavations surrounded by embankments of earth, and special duty men had each prepared for themselves burrows in the ground, many of which were creditable specimens of engineering. One was reminded, in riding over the plain, of the colonies of prairie dogs with their burrows and mounds. Although we had but two days' actual fighting at Coal Harbor, our losses were more than thirteen thousand men, while the rebels suffered comparatively small losses.

Thus the army lay upon the burning sands of that arid plain, the greater part of the line without the friendly shelter of a tree, weary, yet not discouraged; grimy and dirty, and choked with dust, yet uttering no words of complaint, for twelve days.

Troops commenced moving toward the rear on the morning of the 11th of July, and it became known that we were to make no more attempts to force the formidable position. General Grant had ordered another flank movement, this time to the James river. Preparations for withdrawing went on actively on the 10th and 11th; all the wounded were sent to the White House, and the long trains of forage, ammunition and commissary supplies which had been allowed to come far toward the front, began to pass to the rear. On the 12th, Smith's corps was ordered to the White House, thence to embark to City Point, while the remainder of the army was to cross the Chickahominy far to the right of the rebel position, and march to the James river.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the long hospital train of the Sixth corps moved out toward the left a few miles and halted for the corps, which withdrew from the works after dark, and marched with great rapidity toward the left. The other corps also withdrew from their positions, and the whole army moved off down the Chickahominy, the Second corps in advance. The march was kept up all night, a short halt only being allowed in the morning near Dispatch Station. Then the column pressed on again, the men almost suffocated with the dust, which hung over the column like a huge cloud; no halt was made at noon, and the men, deprived of their coffee, choked with dust, and burned with heat, marched wearily toward night. The sun was sinking in the west, tinging the clouds with purple, and crowning the distant hills with gold, when we crossed the historic Chickahominy. Two years before we had crossed the same stream not far from this very spot. Through how many vicissitudes of army life had we passed since that time. The stream was not wide, and its banks were well defined where we crossed. Indeed, at this point, there was nothing in the appearance of the stream that would convey any idea of the difficulties which it had once presented to the Union army. The corps bivouacked on high grounds a mile from the river, glad to rest from the toiling march.

We were early astir on the morning of the 14th; taking our line of march through a delightful section of country where the comfortable farm houses and fine residences presented a striking contrast with the desolations to which we had become accustomed. As we began to descend from the high lands toward the plain, on which stands the little cluster of houses called, in southern fashion, Charles City, we beheld, in the distance, the James river, lying in all its loveliness, spreading widely between its banks. A magnificent prospect opened before us. The river in the distance bordered by green fields, one undulating slope four or five miles wide, and twice as long, presenting a scene of surpassing beauty. There were large fields of grain already yellow and nearly ripe for the harvest, green meadows lay in the beautiful valleys, the gentle breeze dallied with the tassels of the long rows of corn, which gave rich promise of an abundant harvest; fine groves upon the hillside, in the valleys and on the plain, gave a charming diversity to the scene, and the old mansions, embosomed in vines and trees, and surrounded by colonies of outhouses, reminded us of the ease and comfort which had reigned here before the ravages of war had desolated Virginia. To the right was Charles City, almost hidden by trees, a little town, in prosperous days, the home of a few hundred people, now almost deserted.

In the vicinity of Charles City we halted a little before noon. The Second corps, which was in the advance, had already reached the James at Wilcox's Landing, and was preparing to cross. The men of our corps were delighted with the opportunity of once more spreading their tents over clean grassy turf, and each quickly pitched his shelter tent preparatory to a refreshing rest.

Within two miles of our camp was the residence of the late ex-president, John Tyler, which was visited by many of our officers. It was a charming spot, with everything about it to please the eye of a lover of the beautiful. But except the grounds immediately surrounding the house, everything was in the wildness of nature.

The house was stripped of almost everything. The cabinet was carried off. The large library had lost many of its choicest volumes, while the remainder, with heaps of letters, lay thrown in wild confusion about the floor. The pile of sheet music which had been left on the piano by the family, had been culled over and nearly all taken away. In fact such a sad scene of destruction was rare, even in the track of a great army.