The employment of General McDowell’s force in the defense of Washington, and its failure to co-operate by land with McClellan, necessitated on the part of the Army of the Potomac an immediate change of base across the Peninsula. Such a change in the face of a powerful enemy is considered one of the most hazardous undertakings in war. But McClellan had no doubt of the ability of his army to fight its way, even against superior numbers, through to the James River, and thus secure a new position for an advance against Richmond.

The entire energy of the army was now directed to this object. A despatch was sent by General Van Vliet, chief quartermaster of the Army of the Potomac, to Colonel Ingalls, quartermaster at White House, as follows:

“Run the cars to the last moment, and load them with provision and ammunition. Load every wagon you have with subsistence, and send them to Savage’s Station, by way of Bottom’s Bridge. If you are obliged to abandon White House, burn everything that you cannot get off. You must throw all our supplies up the James River as soon as possible, and accompany them yourself with all your force. It will be of vast importance to establish our depots on James River, without delay, if we abandon White House. I will keep you advised of every movement so long as the wires work; after that you must exercise your own judgment.”

All these commands were obeyed. So excellent were the dispositions of the different officers in command of the troops, depots and gunboats, and so thorough was the warning of the approach of the enemy, that almost everything was saved, and but a small amount of stores was destroyed to prevent them from falling into the hands of the enemy. General Stoneman’s communications with the main army being cut off, he fell back upon White House Station, thence to Yorktown, when White House was evacuated.

On the twenty-sixth instant orders were sent to all the corps commanders on the right bank of the Chickahominy to be prepared to send as many troops as they could spare on the following day to the left bank of the river. General Franklin received instructions to hold General Slocum’s division in readiness by daybreak on the twenty-seventh, and if heavy firing should at that time be heard in the direction of General Porter, to move at once to his assistance without further orders. At noon, on the twenty-sixth, the approach of the enemy, who had crossed above Meadow Bridge, was discovered by the advanced pickets at that point, and at half-past twelve in the afternoon they were attacked and driven in. All the pickets were now called in, and the regiment and battery at Mechanicsville were withdrawn.

About three o’clock in the afternoon the enemy formed his line of battle, and came down upon our troops like a torrent—attacking the entire line. McClellan, anticipating a fierce onset, was prepared for such an event, and gave him a warm reception. Our artillery occupied positions commanding all the roads and open ground. Timber had been felled, rifle-pits dug, and the infantry were under cover of the thick woods. All remained quiet until the rebel mass came rushing on—yelling as they came—within a short distance of our line, when every battery and division opened simultaneously a most destructive fire, which drove the enemy back with tremendous slaughter. Several other attacks were made on our lines during the afternoon, which proved disastrous to the enemy. At nine o’clock in the evening the firing ceased, the action having lasted six hours.

During the night the heavy siege guns and wagons were removed to the right bank of the Chickahominy, and most of the troops withdrawn, unknown to the enemy. About noon the next day another general engagement came on, and after seven hours hard fighting the left flank of the Federal line was turned, and they were driven from their position.

General McClellan says: “About seven o’clock in the evening they threw fresh troops against General Porter with still greater fury, and finally gained the woods held by our left. This reverse, aided by the confusion that followed an unsuccessful charge by five companies of the Fifth Cavalry, and followed as it was by more determined assaults on the remainder of our lines, now outflanked, caused a general retreat from our position to the hill in rear overlooking the bridge. French’s and Meagher’s brigades now appeared, driving before them the stragglers who were thronging toward the bridge. These brigades advanced boldly to the front, and by their example, as well as by the steadiness of their bearing, reanimated our troops and warned the enemy that reinforcements had arrived. It was now dusk. The enemy, already repulsed several times with terrible slaughter, and hearing the shouts of the fresh troops, failed to follow up their advantage. This gave an opportunity to rally our men behind the brigades of Generals French and Meagher, and they again advanced up the hill, ready to repulse another attack. During the night our thinned and exhausted regiments were all withdrawn in safety, and by the following morning all had reached the other side of the stream.”

A despatch from General McClellan to Secretary Stanton, on the twenty-eighth, tells a sad story, a part of which I quote:

“Had I twenty thousand, or even ten thousand fresh troops to use to-morrow, I could take Richmond; but I have not a man in reserve, and shall be glad to cover my retreat, and save the material and personnel of the army. If we have lost the day, we have yet preserved our honor, and no one need blush for the Army of the Potomac. I have lost this battle because my force was too small. I again repeat that I am not responsible for this, and I say it with the earnestness of a General who feels in his heart the loss of every brave man who has been needlessly sacrificed to-day.

“In addition to what I have already said, I only wish to say to the President that I think he is wrong in regarding me as ungenerous, when I said that my force was too weak. I merely intimated a truth which to-day has been too plainly proved. If, at this instant, I could dispose of ten thousand fresh men, I could gain the victory to-morrow. I know that a few thousand more men would have changed this defeat to a victory. As it is, the Government must not and cannot hold me responsible for the result.

“I feel too earnestly to-night. I have seen too many dead and wounded comrades to feel otherwise than that the Government has not sustained this army. If you do not do so now, the game is lost. If I save this army now, I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you, or to any other persons in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army.”

While the battle of Gaines’ Mill was in progress, I was despatched to several hospitals remote from the direct line of communication, with orders to the surgeons, nurses, and such of the patients as could walk, to take care of themselves as best they could, for no ambulances could reach them; that the army was retreating to the James River, and if they remained longer they would fall into the hands of the enemy.

At one of the hospitals, about eight miles distant, I found a captain and three lieutenants with whom I was acquainted. They were just recovering from fever and unable to endure much fatigue, but could probably reach the James River if they should try. I was beset on every side to give up my horse to one and to another of them until I knew not what to say or do. I did not feel unwilling to give my horse to assist them in escaping from the rebels, and walk all the way myself, but I knew I was expected to return immediately and report to the officer in command of the ambulance corps, and undoubtedly would be required to perform other missions during the day. But all such excuses as these were thrown into the shade by the powerful oratory of the convalescent captain, who poured forth a vehement torrent of overwhelming arguments which would have made a less experienced messenger believe that the horse was for the captain individually, had been sent for his especial benefit, and was consequently entirely at his disposal.

His eloquence had not quite this effect upon me, notwithstanding I decided to give up my horse and to take the consequences. I did not feel so particularly drawn toward Captain A. as to let him have the horse entirely to himself, and to leave the other three poor fellows to live or die. Upon coming to the conclusion, after mature deliberation, to part with my faithful horse, the same one I rode on the Bull Run battle-field, I informed those officers of my intention. But, said I, not for the benefit of any one of you in particular, but for the mutual benefit of all four; then I proceeded to make arrangements that two of them should ride alternately, and not faster than the other two could walk. Then I took two slips of paper and told them to cast lots to see who should ride first.

After they had drawn the lots to settle this matter, and the poor captain was doomed to foot it the first part of the journey, and I saw that he looked rather maliciously at me, as much as to say that I had assisted fate in deciding that he should walk instead of ride, the thought struck me that there would probably be some trouble when it came his turn to ride. So I delivered the following brief lecture, which was especially intended for his ear: “Gentlemen, you are aware that by giving you my horse I am running the risk of incurring Major N.’s displeasure, and am exposing myself to the very danger from which I am assisting you to escape. Now, in return, I make one request of you, that is that you all do as you have agreed to; don’t play false one with the other. Those who ride are not to go faster than the others can walk, and you are to ride equal distances as near as you may be able to judge, unless otherwise arranged among yourselves. The horse you are to have taken care of when you arrive at your destination. I trust these matters to your honor, but if honor should forget to assert its rights, the case will be reported at headquarters.”

There were several others in the same hospital, but some were unconscious of the state of affairs around them; others were conscious, but unable to help themselves in the least. One of the noble hearted nurses refused to leave those helpless men, whom he had taken care of so long, and was taken prisoner. I marked that noble boy’s countenance, dress and general appearance, and by making inquiry afterwards I found out that his name was J. Robbins, of the Second Michigan Regiment, and after he had undergone the hardships of imprisonment and had been exchanged, I had the honor of meeting and congratulating him, I felt that it was a greater honor than to converse with many of our major generals.

As I turned to retrace my steps I began to think over the lottery business, and wondered if I had not introduced a species of gambling into my charitable deed. I did not feel clear on this point until I thought of reading in the Bible something about casting lots. Yes, it must be right, for there were instances of it in the Bible. I tried to remember an instance to find out in what connection I had read it, but my mind was quite confused, and it required some time to recall one of those passages. After a while, however, I thought of the one where the Roman soldiers cast lots for the vestments of the Saviour, but this text did not bring much comfort to my mind; I was somehow reminded of the woman who had named her child Beelzebub because it was a Scripture name, and I concluded to leave the further discussion of the subject until a more convenient season.

I remembered now of having noticed a farm house when I came that way in the mornings around which were a number of horses, mules, or something of that sort, and I thought it would be well to investigate the matter. Moving along in that direction as fast as possible, I soon came to the house and saw the animals there, feeding as before. Whatever I intended to do must be done quickly, for the near approach of the cannonading warned me that the army was fast retreating and I would soon be cut off from the James river road. I went at once to examine the stock on the farm for the purpose of ascertaining whether there was anything worth appropriating.

There were four splendid mules and a colt, but whether the colt was a two year old or ten I could not tell, for it was very small and very handsome, looking much like an Indian pony, and it might be a dozen years old. But the all absorbing questions in my mind were how was I going to secure this colt, and if I should catch him what was I going to do with him, having neither saddle nor bridle? I went to the barn, looked around and found an old halter that, for want of something better, would be of service. Now was the time to catch the colt, but this was easier said than done, for upon going towards it I found that it was about as wild as a young buffalo. Not discouraged, however, I started it, together with the mules, in the direction of the barn, and opened a door leading into a long shed connected with the barn. This plan succeeded admirably, for they all ran into the shed without the least trouble. But the greatest difficulty was to put the halter on the colt and get on his back; however, I at length succeed, and, mounting it, started toward James river.

The enemy had by this time succeeded in driving the Federals from their first position, and were now between them and me. Turning off from the main road, I struck out into the woods and rode as fast as possible. The woods were open and clear so that I could see a long way ahead. On I went until I came near a little thicket so dense that I could not see anything beyond its border. Not daring to go into any place which looked suspicious, I turned to go round it, when my ear caught the click, click of a dozen rifles, and a shower of Minnie balls came round me thick as hailstones, but not one of them pierced even my clothing. My colt took fright at this unexpected salute, and plunged into the woods in another direction with the speed of lightning.