Toward sundown it was apparent that the intrenched camp had been taken; and as the deep booming of cannon became more distant, and the rattle of musketry less distinct, we felt certain that the foe was flying, and that our men were pursuing them. But we knew that our men would take everything they were ordered to take. They care not for wounds and death. This is their only country. But the enemy have a country to run to, and they hope to live, even if defeated here. If they kill all our young men, the old men and women, and even our children, will seize their arms and continue the conflict.
At night. The ambulances are coming in with our wounded. They report that all the enemy’s strong defenses were stormed, just as we could perceive from the sounds. They say that our brave men suffered much in advancing against the intrenchments, exposed to the fire of cannon and small arms, without being able to see the foe under their shelter; but when they leaped over the breastworks and turned the enemy’s guns on them, our loss was more than compensated. Our men were shot in front; the enemy in the back—and terrible was the slaughter. We got their tents, all standing, and a sumptuous repast that had just been served up when the battle began. Gen. Casey’s headquarters were taken, and his plate and smoking viands were found on his table. His papers fell into our hands. We got a large amount of stores and refreshments, so much needed by our poor braves! There were boxes of lemons, oranges, brandies and wines, and all the luxuries of distant lands which enter the unrestricted ports of the United States. These things were narrated by the pale and bleeding soldiers, who smiled in triumph at their achievement. Not one in the long procession of ambulances uttered a complaint. Did they really suffer pain from their wounds? This question was asked by thousands, and the reply was, “not much.” Women and children and slaves are wending to the hospitals, with baskets of refreshments, lint, and bandages. Every house is offered for a hospital, and every matron and gentle daughter, a tender nurse.
But how fares it with the invader? Unable to recross the swollen Chickahominy, the Yankees were driven into an almost impenetrable swamp, where they must pass the night in water up to their knees. The wounded borne off by them will have no ministrations from their sisters and mothers, and their dead are abandoned on the field. If Huger had come up at the time appointed, the enemy would have been ruined.
CHAPTER XV.
Huger fails again.—A wounded boy.—The killed and wounded.—Lee assumes command.—Lee prepares to attack McClellan—Beauregard watches the gold.—Our generals scattered.—Hasty letter from Gen. Lee.—Opening of grand battle.—First day, 26th June.—Second, etc.—Lee’s consummate skill.—Every day for a week it rages.—Streets crowded with Blue Jackets.—McClellan retires.
June 1st.—The ambulances are now bringing in the enemy’s wounded as well as our own. It is the prompting of humanity. They seem truly grateful for this magnanimity, as they call it; a sentiment hitherto unknown to them.
The battle was renewed to-day, but not seriously. The failure of Gen. Huger to lead his division into action at the time appointed, is alleged as the only reason why the left wing of the enemy was not completely destroyed. But large masses of the enemy did cross the river, on bridges constructed for the purpose, and they had 50,000 men engaged against a much less number on our part; and their batteries played upon us from the north bank of the Chickahominy. The flying foe kept under shelter of this fire—and these guns could not be taken, as the pontoon bridge was defended by heavy artillery.
All day the wounded were borne past our boarding-house in Third Street, to the general hospital; and hundreds, with shattered arms and slight flesh wounds, came in on foot. I saw a boy, not more than fifteen years old (from South Carolina), with his hand in a sling. He showed me his wound. A ball had entered between the fingers of his left hand and lodged near the wrist, where the flesh was much swollen. He said, smiling, “I’m going to the hospital just to have the ball cut out, and will then return to the battle-field. I can fight with my right hand.”
The detectives are jubilant to-day. They say one of their number, ——, did heroic feats of arms on the field, killing a Yankee colonel, and a private who came to the rescue. At all events, they brought in a colonel’s sword, pistols, and coat, as trophies. This story is to be in the papers to-morrow!