March to the Front—Fair Oaks—Assigned to the Irish Brigade—Hard Service—Sharpshooting—The Affair of June 15, and Death of Brown—The Woodchopping Affair—Battle of Gaines’ Mill—The Retreat—Battles of Peach Orchard and Savage’s Station—Destruction of Stores—Burning of the Train of Cars.

On the morning of the 8th of June, the regiment was for the first time supplied with shelter-tents. These consisted of two pieces of cloth, each about six feet long and three and one-half feet wide, so made as to button together, the two parts overlapping and thus shedding water. One tent was issued to every two men, each man carrying his half in his knapsack. There were no ends to this slight covering, and hence the name shelter-tent. At about four o’clock in the afternoon of this day, the regiment started for the front, marching a distance of some seven miles on the Richmond and York River Railroad, halting at night, and going into camp on a slight elevation of ground near the track. After breakfast on the following morning, the march towards the front was resumed. The destination of the regiment was Fair Oaks, about seven miles from Richmond. Fair Oaks Mas the centre of the Union line, and was held by the corps of General Sumner. The march was performed on the railroad, a distance of about thirteen miles, and was accomplished by two o’clock in the afternoon. Upon reaching the lines, the regiment was halted in a piece of plowed ground, some thirty yards or more in front of the grove of graceful oaks that gave the place its name, and just on the edge of the forest in which were stationed our pickets.

This was the battle-ground of June 1, one of the severest battles of the campaign, the effects of which were still apparent. The trunks of the trees were literally filled with bullets, while the little white cottage then occupied by General Sumner was perforated with shots of various sizes. Many of the enemy’s dead in the adjacent forest were still unburied, and the sickening odors that came from it were almost unendurable. The regiment had some days before been ordered to join General Sumner’s corps, and on this day it was, by the following order, attached to Brigadier-General Thomas Francis Meagher’s brigade:—

“Headquarters Richardson’s Division, } “Camp at Fair Oaks, Va., June 9, 1862. }

“Special Order No. —.

“The Twenty-ninth Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers is hereby assigned to the brigade of General Meagher.

“By command of Brigadier-General Richardson.

“John M. Nowell, A. A. G.”

This brigade was better known as the “Irish Brigade,” and was composed of the Sixty-third, Sixty-ninth, and Eighty-eighth New York regiments,—all Irish. The Brigade had fought gallantly at Fair Oaks on the first of June, where it had lost heavily; and the Sixty-ninth, now commanded by Colonel Robert Nugent,29 a fine soldier, had distinguished itself at Bull Run. At the time of the assignment of the Twenty-ninth Regiment to this brigade, the latter was in need of recruitment, having lost a good many of its men by battle and disease; but it had been desired by its officers to fill up its depleted ranks by the addition of another Irish regiment. Although the Twenty-ninth was essentially an American regiment, very largely composed of and officered by men who were direct descendants of the early settlers of the Plymouth and Bay colonies,—one of its members, indeed, being a lineal descendant of Miles Standish,—yet it was cordially welcomed to the Brigade by its old officers and members.

The night of the 9th of June was cold and stormy; at sundown the men pitched their tents; but an order soon came directing that they be struck at once, as they had already been seen by the enemy, and had attracted his fire. The storm lasted all night, and the men were compelled to lie exposed to a pelting rain, upon a bed of mud. No rations were issued to the regiment till the night of the 10th, its members in the meantime being obliged to depend for food upon the generosity of the other regiments of the Brigade. The levelling effect of field life was curiously apparent here. It was an honor, but not a material advantage, to be an officer under these circumstances. The writer remembers seeing the lamented Major of the regiment sitting on his horse some time during the second day, at the front, wet to his skin, shivering from the cold, and asking and receiving from a more fortunate private, a drink of hot coffee from a very black-looking tin dipper.

The two armies were very near each other at this place, only a half-mile of woods intervening; and in these woods were the Union and Confederate pickets, stationed behind trees and logs; in some places the hostile lines being less than twenty yards apart. The nearness of the pickets to each other resulted in almost constant firing, which was very destructive, hardly an hour elapsing from sunrise to sunset without some poor soldier being borne from the forest reeking in blood, and not seldom pallid and lifeless. To add to the horrors of this life, the sharpshooters of the enemy, stationed in tall pines and in their rifle-pits, fired with almost unerring aim at every moving object; and at irregular intervals, during both night and day, the enemy’s batteries threw shot and shell into our lines.

Neither was all the shelling and sharpshooting done by the enemy. The Federals were by no means on the defensive, but were besieging Richmond, and neglected no opportunity to worry the enemy, or wrest from him even so much as a foot of ground. Directly in front of Sumner’s headquarters, at the edge of a large field, were the remains of an old house, and near it an apple-tree, behind which there was usually stationed one of our sharpshooters, who amused himself in exchanging shots with a Confederate rifleman who had a lodge in the branches of a large pine on the farther side of the field. The elevated nature of the ground in the rear of this tree afforded the troops there encamped an opportunity of witnessing these practices, and when a particularly good shot was made, they would usually manifest their appreciation of it by a loud cheer.

These days at Fair Oaks, as well as those that followed, embracing the whole period from the 9th of June till the time when the Army of the Potomac was finally settled down at Harrison’s Landing, were among the most exciting in the history of the regiment. In the first place, the men were not only exposed to some of the worst dangers of war, but also suffered intensely from the hot weather, unhealthy location of the camps, and severe labor. From some mistaken notion, they were ordered to leave their overcoats and blouses at White House Landing, the want of which was keenly felt, as the nights were cold, and the fogs, especially after nightfall, so dense as closely to resemble rain, while the days were broiling hot. The dress-coat worn by them, being a close-fitting garment, was ill-adapted to fatigue duty, and not sufficiently thick to protect them from the chilling night air.

The standing order requiring all troops at the front to quit their tents at three o’clock in the morning, and remain standing, nearly motionless, in line of battle till sunrise, proved very exhaustive; and all these hardships combined, to which should be added the impurity of the water and the poisoned air of the battle-field, produced many cases of fever and other equally fatal diseases. On the afternoon of the 14th of June, companies C and E were ordered on picket in the swamp at the left of the railroad, nearly in front of Hooker’s division. This place was considered one of the worst on the whole picket line, for several reasons; skirmishes there were more common than at any other point, and the swamp was very wet, being in places little better than a morass, and everywhere filled with a dense undergrowth of bushes and briers. The pickets were stationed behind trees, which in many instances were scarcely large enough to cover the body, and about them no footing save a few hussocks or uncovered roots.

The night of the 14th was unusually mild and beautiful; the moon shone brightly, throwing here and there a beam of its soft light down through the branches of the pines, and relieving the place of some of its natural gloom. There seemed to be some sort of a festival or celebration in the camp of the enemy, as several of their bands played merrily all the evening. Not a shot was fired during the whole night, and this peaceful order of things continued nearly all the succeeding day (Sunday), which was warm and sultry. At about three o’clock in the afternoon, a violent thunder-storm came up, accompanied by a strong wind. When the storm was at its height, and our guards were crouching under the trees and bushes to shield themselves from the pelting rain, the crackling of the brush in their front was heard, and presently the heads of the enemy were seen through the undergrowth. This was to be a raid upon our pickets, and the time was chosen in the hope of finding them unprepared, and confused by the tempest; but our men were vigilant, and as soon as the enemy were seen, began to fire. The latter replied by a loud screech and a deafening volley of musketry, showing that they were present in large numbers, and immediately after charged. Our pickets fell back from their posts to the edge of the woods, firing as they retired, and upon reaching the reserves under Captains Leach and Doten, formed in line. The Confederates, to the number, apparently, of a full regiment, followed slowly on, till they came to within a few yards of the edge of the wood, when they paused, and again fired several volleys; but by this time the swamp was being shelled by our batteries. The shells bursting among the trees, and throwing down large fragments, caused a sudden termination of the assault, and the retirement of the enemy. During this fight, which lasted about fifteen minutes, some soldiers of Company E captured one of the enemy in the swamp, while attempting to retreat with his comrades. In this affray, also, George D. Brown of Company C, a very faithful and intelligent soldier, was killed; and Charles Kleinhans of Company E, fatally wounded. The body of Brown was found by his comrades, when they returned to their posts, in a most shocking condition; he had apparently been shot through the vitals and afterward bayoneted through the lower jaw and neck; his clothing had been stripped from his body, and every article of value he had upon his person carried away.

On the 16th of June, the Brigade was relieved of its post at the extreme front, and ordered into the grove of oaks, in the rear, where the ground was much higher. The 18th of June was a day of great excitement. In the afternoon, our pickets at the centre advanced, bringing on a sharp engagement, which lasted for several hours; and this was followed by a very determined advance of a large body of the enemy’s infantry on the Nine Miles Road, which ran directly through our camp. They came along in fine style, and in full view of our troops, until they reached a point about eighty yards from one of our outworks, on the edge of the forest, when its battery opened on them with shell and grape. The column was at once thrown into confusion, a wild flight soon following, the dead and wounded being left in the road. After nightfall, the wounded were gathered up by our men and brought into camp, and the dead buried in the field near by.

On the 19th, the Sixteenth Massachusetts Infantry, forming a part of General Hooker’s division, encamped at the left of the railroad, near the famous twin houses, had a severe engagement with the enemy, in the swamp before referred to, losing thirty-four of its number killed and wounded. The regiment was ordered to advance through the thick woods, and when well into them, encountered a superior force of the enemy posted behind the trees.

June 20, companies C, E, and D, together with several companies of the Sixty-ninth and Eighty-eighth New York regiments, were detailed to work in the trenches in front of General Hooker’s division. A little after noon, the enemy commenced shelling the working party, keeping it up for nearly two hours. There were no casualties. On the 23d, several companies of the regiment were again detailed to go on picket in the swamp, and, with a portion of the First Massachusetts Infantry, advanced through the woods to the enemy’s rifle-pits on the farther side. A sharp skirmish was the result, lasting till near nightfall, dwindling into picket-firing, and in this form continuing all night.

An unusual and strange proceeding was attempted by a certain staff-officer of the corps, on the night of the 26th, in which companies C, E, and G participated. Toward dusk, these commands marched to the headquarters of the Brigade Quartermaster, where each man was given a new axe and helve, and told to put them together. This was a piece of work to which most of the soldiers were quite unaccustomed; but they contrived to do it in a rude manner, and then, under the aforenamed staff-officer, were marched down the railroad, in the direction of Richmond. The men were sent into the forest on either side of the track, and ordered to cut down the trees. It was an insane performance. The woods were thick and inky dark; the soldier could with difficulty discern the tree he was at work upon; the axes were insecurely attached to the helves, constantly coming off; and, worse than all else, the men were at work outside of our pickets, and within a few yards of the enemy. This farce was kept up not longer than ten minutes, when the Confederates suddenly closed it by firing several volleys among the workmen. Mr. Staff-Officer thereupon concluded to cease operations at this point, and take his command farther to the right of the line. Here the same droll proceeding was repeated, and with the same results, except that this time the men barely escaped capture. Nearly the whole night was occupied by this movement, the companies reaching camp at four o’clock the next morning.

There had been, for several days prior to this, many indications of a great movement on the part of the enemy. Firing on the picket lines had greatly increased, and in many places quite formidable attacks had been made. Some of the guards had reported having heard the rumbling of artillery and baggage-wagons within the enemy’s lines, the noise indicating a movement of the trains towards our right. All during the 26th there had been heavy firing in the direction of Porter’s corps, and at night of this day the news of the battle of Mechanicsville reached our camp at the centre.

About noon of the 27th, loud and continuous firing, growing hourly more severe, was heard from the same quarter, and at five o’clock in the afternoon, the order came for the Brigade to march, each man being supplied with three days’ rations, and told to take his blanket. At the time the order was received, companies A and I of the regiment were on picket, and could not be recalled. The brigade line was promptly formed at the hour named, and the regiments at once moved out of camp, in the direction of Gaines’ Mill. Proceeding a mile on the main road, the troops were halted, where, after pausing a few moments, they were joined by French’s brigade.

The day was one of the hottest of the summer, the roads were dusty and rough, and the march for most of the distance was performed at the double-quick,—the gray-haired Leach, then sixty-four years old, going with his company. He was advised by his brother officers to remain in camp; but he indignantly refused to do so, declaring that he entered the army to fight, and that he should go with his men into every place of danger, so long as he had the strength to walk. Every moment, as the troops neared the field, the noise and tumult of the battle grew louder and louder, and at last, when a point had been reached within a mile of the place, the men began to witness some of the effects of the terrible struggle which was there going on. First a few stragglers were met, who, panic-stricken, gave doleful accounts of what had happened at the front; a little farther on, and a number of wounded men were seen lying by the roadside, looking deathly pale, and presently the road ahead seemed filled with ambulances, and mingling among them was a crowd of crippled and maimed soldiers, hobbling along by aid of their muskets; officers, wounded and dead, were being borne away in the arms of their trusty men. The road was so much obstructed by these means, that the onward movement of our brigades was greatly retarded, and it was nearly seven o’clock before they reached a wooden bridge that spanned the Chickahominy, about a half-mile from Gaines’ Mill. Here the Fifth United States Cavalry were seen deploying on the edge of the woods and river a short distance in advance, while about the base of the hill, in front, were large masses of disorganized troops, whose excited officers were using vain efforts to rally. This proved to be the most critical moment in the battle, which had raged with fury since noon. General Porter, with not more than thirty-five thousand men, on an extended line reaching all the way from New Cold Harbor to the Chickahominy, had been opposed from the first by a superior force; and shortly before the arrival of our brigades, the enemy had been re-enforced by the army of Jackson, making a combined force of about sixty thousand. Nearly all the great military leaders of the Rebellion were on the field,—Lee, Jackson, Longstreet, D. H. Hill, A. P. Hill, Ewell, Hood, Whiting, Stuart, and even Jefferson Davis, who had come down from Richmond to witness the destruction of McClellan’s right wing. A crushing and fearful charge of the Confederate columns had just been made all along Porter’s attenuated and sadly-thinned line; and as our two brigades were rapidly moving toward the hill, the remnants of the last Federal battle line on that part of the field made its appearance upon the crest, shouting wildly,—some of the men with and others without arms,—and then rushed in confusion through the well-formed lines of the brigades, to the rear. As soon as the fugitives passed, the ranks of these troops closed, and giving three hearty cheers, they began to ascend the hill. Just then several pieces of the enemy’s light artillery made their appearance upon the brow of the hill, and unlimbering, began to prepare to fire. The advancing troops of Meagher and French caught the enemy’s sight; he paused a moment, looked astonished, and then with great celerity limbered up his guns and disappeared without firing a shot.

This act of the fresh troops, in driving the enemy from the hill and deliberately facing their cannon, had the effect of reanimating Porter’s jaded and dispirited men. They began to form at once in the rear of Meagher’s and French’s lines; and on a neighboring elevation was the glorious old Ninth Massachusetts, rallying around its colors for the last time that day.

When our men reached the summit of the hill, the enemy had crossed over the field, and was seen forming on a long ridge nearly opposite our position. The smoke had now risen to the tops of the trees, and beneath this pall lay the ground, formerly a grass-field, but now a dusty plain, where the principal part of the fighting had taken place; the Confederate and Federal dead, wounded and dead horses, knapsacks, muskets, clothing, wrecked caissons and cannon, were scattered in wild confusion over this space, while here and there were the wounded of both armies, crawling and staggering towards their respective lines to escape capture. It was a scene that presented at a glance all the ruin of a terrible battle; but, fortunately, the advancing troops had but a moment to contemplate it. The brigades were at once hurried down the hillside toward the enemy’s new line; several of the field-officers of Porter’s corps going along with them, and uttering words of encouragement. Among these officers was General Butterfield, who was without a command. Catching sight of the State flag carried by the Twenty-ninth Regiment,—it was the only Pine-tree flag then on the field,—he went dashing up to the color-sergeant, and cried out, “Give me the white flag of Massachusetts, and I’ll lead you against the enemy.” The Sergeant (Horace A. Jenks of Company E) tightened his grasp on the colors and gave a look of inquiry to the Lieutenant-Colonel of the regiment, who was but a few feet distant. That officer quietly replied, “Keep your colors!” which he did, carrying them bravely forward in the face of a bitter fire. The brigades moved over the field in matchless order, and reaching the rising ground upon which the enemy was posted, began to ascend. The enemy’s infantry again fell back, while his batteries remained on the ridge, continuing to fire an occasional shot, until the darkness of night rendered all hostilities impossible. When half-way up the ridge, the men were ordered to lie down, remaining here for nearly two hours. Standing behind the colors was Lieutenant Thomas A. Mayo, watching calmly the movements of the enemy, when a cannon-shot, doubtless aimed at the flags, struck him about the neck and sent him heavily to the ground, lifeless. His body was left on the spot where he fell. The darkness that settled down over the field was simply intense; an object ten feet distant could scarcely be seen. Several times during the night small reconnoitring parties were sent out, and in several instances almost stumbled upon the enemy’s soldiers, who were very near us, resulting in an exchange of shots. At one time the regiment, in moving to the left, approached within a few yards of the edge of the timber in which apparently a large number of the enemy were assembled; fires were burning brightly through the woods, around which were gathered groups of Confederates, and so near were our men to this bivouac of the enemy, that the conversations of the latter could be distinctly heard. They seemed to be summing up their losses, recounting the exciting incidents of the battle just ended, and speculating upon the events of the coming day.

The following incident will serve to show the close proximity of the enemy: Major O’Neill of General Meagher’s staff was sent forward with certain directions to the regiment; groping his way in the darkness to the position that he felt sure the regiment occupied, he suddenly came upon a body of men. “Is this the Twenty-ninth Massachusetts?” said the gallant Major. “No,” was the reply, “this is the —th Virginia, and you are our prisoner,” and the Major found himself in the hands of the enemy.

The regiment remained on the field till about two o’clock in the morning, when the order was given to fall back. There were many exciting incidents connected with that night’s stay at Gaines’ Mill, the precarious situation rendering it necessary for our troops to be active and constantly moving to different parts of the field. The men were very weary, and whenever they were ordered to lie down upon the ground,—as was the case whenever they halted,—they would fall into a slumber. One of the field-officers stated that upon rising from the ground, where he had reclined for a few minutes, he found a snake clinging among his beard.

Our dead had been left unburied upon the field, and our wounded gathered together in small groups about an old building on the side of the hill, near the river. The fate that loomed up before these wounded men, was neglect, capture, and perhaps death. This they keenly realized, and as the retiring columns filed past them, they all joined in earnest supplications to be taken away. The words of one of these unfortunate men are still fresh in the mind of the writer. “Is this what a man gets in fighting for the Union?” said the bleeding, abandoned soldier, as he turned in his pain to listen to the tramping of the retreating troops.

The army of General Porter had crossed the Chickahominy during the night, and his exhausted soldiers were seen lying by the roadside; long trains of wagons were moving away toward the James; the eventful retreat had already begun; but the soldiers knew it not, and well was it that they did not know, or realize the real nature of the situation. When the regiment reached Fair Oaks, which was near daybreak in the morning, it found its tents occupied by other troops. An hour before, the enemy had made an attack in force upon General Sedgwick’s front, and these troops had been called to aid in repelling the assault, which was effectively done, for the number of Confederate dead found in the woods in front of Sedgwick’s line furnished substantial proof of a bloody repulse.

The brigades had performed important service at Gaines’ Mill, and their very slight loss furnishes no evidence of the amount of work actually done by them. The last assault of the enemy would have proved extremely disastrous but for the opportune arrival of these fresh troops. General McClellan, in his “Report and Campaigns” (pages 248-9), speaking of the last assault of the enemy, says: “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 own troops, and warned the enemy that re-enforcements 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.”

The Count of Paris, in his “History of the Civil War in America” (Vol. II., pages 103-4), after speaking of this assault, says: “At this instant, Richardson and Meagher arrive on the ground with the two brigades sent by Sumner. The second is composed exclusively of Irishmen,30 the green flag, ornamented with a golden harp, floating in their midst. They arrive shouting vociferously, and displaying all that vivacity and dash for which the children of this ancient war-like race are noted when marching to battle. Their comrades, on finding themselves thus supported, respond with loud hurrahs, by which they seek to gain fresh courage. In the meantime, the enemy has re-formed his ranks and is again in motion; but instead of a routed crowd, he beholds a body of resolute troops, who seem to be calmly waiting for him.... At this sight he hesitates, and approaching night puts an end to the sanguinary struggle.”

June 28. The day passed by very quietly. It was the usual calm that follows a terrible battle, and the silence that generally precedes a great movement. As the day closed, however, the signs of retreat began to thicken. The formidable earthworks, upon which the men had toiled during so many blistering days, were being rapidly dismantled, some of the large pieces spiked, and others buried in the ground. At sundown the men were ordered to pack knapsacks and prepare to march. The company cooks were directed to destroy all rations not required for immediate distribution, while the sick and wounded in the hospitals were packed off in ambulances and sent to the rear.

At nine o’clock that evening, the men were ordered to “fall in,” and the Brigade started across a stubble-field, in the rear of the camp, and striking the railroad, marched down the track toward “White House,” halting on a little hill near Savage’s Station. The night was very dark and uncomfortable, a cold, drizzling rain continuing till near daybreak.

On the afternoon of the 28th, companies F and G, Captains Tripp and Richardson, beside one or two other companies of the Brigade, were placed on picket at the right and left of the railroad, in front of Fair Oaks, and were not recalled when the army fell back on the evening of that day. At one o’clock in the morning of the 29th, the field-officer of the day visited the pickets, and informed Captain Tripp that they were to hold the line till daylight and then withdraw down the railroad, if they could do so without the enemy following them too closely. If they found this impossible, they were nevertheless to fall back, but in doing so, make all the resistance in their power, so that our army might be fully alarmed. At four o’clock, A. M., Captain Tripp communicated his instructions to the other officers on his part of the line, and soon after an attempt was made to withdraw the pickets; but the enemy, who were unusually vigilant, immediately advanced, whereupon our pickets were sent back to their posts. When all was quiet again, another attempt was made to call in the pickets; but no sooner had they left their posts, than the enemy began to follow them up. Several other attempts were made to fall back out of the woods, but each time attended with the same results. Finally, one of our officers suggested the plan of going through the ceremony of relieving guard, as a means of deceiving the enemy. Between six and seven o’clock, A. M., the reserves were marched into the woods, and visited every post; but instead of placing a new sentinel on guard, the old picket rose and stealthily left the forest. After passing along the whole line, the reserves also hastened out of the woods, and the entire force at once began to fall back to their old camp at Fair Oaks, where their tents were still standing, barely reaching it before the enemy appeared in sight at the edge of the timber, cautiously advancing in skirmish order. A body of Federal cavalry was drawn up in line of battle just in front of the camp; and when the guards halted there to strike their tents and gather up their personal effects, the commanding officer of the cavalry ordered them to desist, move on at once to the rear, and join their respective regiments; but, to save this property from falling into the hands of the enemy, the tents were immediately burned.

Company G was wholly overlooked by the officer of the day, and received no instructions whatever as to leaving the picket line. Sunday morning, a little before seven o’clock, Captain Richardson and Lieutenant Browne of his company, becoming convinced that there was something wrong in their not having any orders, made a tour of the picket line, and to their surprise found that it was everywhere deserted. Going out of the woods, they met a mounted orderly, who informed Captain R. that all the other pickets had been called in, and said to him, that if he had any men in the woods, he had better get them out as soon as possible. Captain Richardson and Lieutenant Browne hastened back to their lines, and quickly called in their men; but the enemy’s skirmishers were soon in their rear, and followed them till they had nearly reached our cavalry.

Sunday, June 29, broke exceedingly warm and sultry. Early in the morning the Brigade started up the track towards Fair Oaks, and after proceeding less than a mile, moved into a field and halted. Here General Meagher called his regimental commanders together and attempted to explain to them the orders under which he was acting; but neither he nor his colonels seemed to comprehend what was expected, and the result was the Brigade marched deliberately back to the little hill where it had spent the night. General Meagher was, later in the day, placed in arrest by General Richardson, and remained in arrest till the afternoon of the next day. The Brigade remained at this point for a short time, and was then ordered to the railroad bridge, a distance of about two miles from Savage’s Station. This bridge (spanning the Chickahominy at that point) had been burned the day before to prevent the enemy from crossing. They had, however, already effected this purpose higher up the stream, and their cavalry, with a few field-pieces, were now seen moving cautiously down the road, a mile away. A pause of nearly an hour here, and the Twenty-ninth and Sixty-third regiments were ordered to proceed to Savage’s. The enemy had come through the woods at a place called Peach Orchard, near the railroad, where they had attacked a small body of our troops. When the two regiments arrived, the enemy, perceiving the re-enforcements, fell back precipitately into the forest and retired. The march to Peach Orchard was made on a rapid run, and though the distance was not great, it was more fatal in its effects than any of the long, hard marches of the succeeding days; for the sun was now high, and poured its nearly vertical rays down into the deep cut through which the railroad ran, and on which the men were compelled to march. The trees and thick foliage that grew along the sides of the ravine effectually shut out the breeze, rendering the place like a heated furnace. One after another both officers and men, even the stoutest and most hardy, fell fainting and senseless from sunstrokes, and among them Captain Leach and Lieutenant Hathaway of Company C, leaving that command without a single commissioned officer, Lieutenant Whitman having been sick with malarial fever for several weeks, and being then in the hospital. From Peach Orchard the regiments proceeded to Savage’s Station, and shortly after were joined by the Sixty-ninth and Eighty-eighth, and finally by all the other troops of the division and corps.

Savage’s Station was the name of a depot on the Richmond and York River Railroad, deriving its name from the owner of the plantation, near whose grounds it was located, and whose mansion stood on a slight elevation on the northerly side of the track. On the opposite side was a large field, skirted on three sides by a heavy growth of pine timber, along the easterly edge of which ran a road. Mr. Savage’s house, and the grounds about it, had been used as a hospital and hospital camp, and at this time there were lying in the house and the numerous tents about it, several hundred of our wounded and sick. Such of these unfortunate ones as could not walk were later in the day abandoned, and captured by the enemy.

Near this place, as also at Fair Oaks Station, a mile farther towards Richmond, were vast quantities of army supplies, which could not be moved. The work of destroying these stores began about noon. Enormous fires were kindled, and into them were thrown boxes of hard bread, bales of clothing, cases of shoes, blankets, fragments of cars, tents, hospital stores, barrels of whiskey, and turpentine. The whole combined made a fire covering an area of nearly two acres. When the flames, mounting above the tops of the trees, were roaring and crackling with intense fury, the workmen, blackened with smoke and wild with the excitement which a vast conflagration always creates, began to pitch into the burning mass kegs of powder and boxes of ammunition. The latter proved a dangerous experiment, and was not repeated. “This destruction of stores,” says the Count of Paris, “was a sort of holocaust offered to the god of war.” While this was taking place, the troops were hurrying to and fro, taking up the various positions assigned them on the hill and the long plain at its foot, preparing to meet the enemy, who was momentarily expected. The grandeur and awfulness of these scenes cannot be adequately portrayed by language. An army of forty thousand men were mustering for battle; the rumbling of the artillery, as it went from point to point over the field, the excited commands of hundreds of officers, the neighing of horses, the roar of the flames, and the shouts of the men, made up the wildest of all the wild scenes of war. The noise and tumult were, however, of short duration; it was not long before everything had changed. By two o’clock, the lines were formed, the artillery had unlimbered and taken position, and then could have been seen, under the cloudless sky of that June day, the corps of Heintzleman, Franklin, and Sumner, with their numerous starry flags, quietly and calmly waiting for the storm of battle to burst upon them.

Another, and if possible, a stranger and more unusual scene, was to be witnessed before the serious work of fighting was to begin. On the track near Fair Oaks Station stood a train of nearly fifty baggage-cars, with a powerful locomotive attached to it. Into the cars were put hundreds of kegs of powder, shells, cartridges, and other materials of a highly combustible character. By two o’clock the cars were well loaded with their dangerous freight, and when this was done, each car was set on fire, and the engine, with full head of steam, set in motion. In full view of the waiting army, the burning train swept past Savage’s Station with the speed of lightning. The grade from this point to the Chickahominy was descending, greatly increasing the velocity of the train; every revolution of the wheels increased the volume of fire, so that now the form of the cars was scarcely visible. The Rev. Dr. James J. Marks, Chaplain of the Sixty-third Pennsylvania Regiment, who witnessed this event from Savage’s house, where he was piously engaged in caring for our sick, thus describes it: “I could not think of anything as a suitable representation of a scene so grand but that of a thousand thunderbolts chained together and wreathed with lightning, rushing with scathing fury and the roar of the tornado over the trembling earth. In a few seconds the engine, cars, and wheels were nothing but one long chain of fire,—a frightful meteor flashing past us.” The distance from Savage’s Station to the Chickahominy is not far from two and a half miles. When the train had reached the deep forest beyond the station, a deafening explosion burst upon the ears of the troops. The fire had reached the ammunition, and now in quick succession began to burst the shells. The noise thus produced was simply terrific; first the loud, sullen sound of a huge shell rent the air, echoing far and wide through the deep recesses of the forest; now came the explosion of smaller ammunition, sounding like the rattle of musketry. The scene of war seemed transferred for awhile to the upper regions; the shrieking, hissing missiles were coursing in all directions through the clear sky, far above the tops of the tallest trees; columns of white smoke were shooting up in gracefully tapering cones toward the zenith; beautiful circles, well defined, marked the explosion of shells. The rattle and roar of the rushing train were distinctly heard for some minutes, ending at last in a succession of crashing sounds. The cars leaped off the end of the track at the railroad bridge, the engine and tender jumping full twenty feet, and lodging on the top of a tall pier, from which they were afterward taken by the Confederates.

Once more all was quiet. The men, momentarily relieved from excitement, began to think of refreshing themselves with food and water. The Twenty-ninth Regiment was fortunate in being near a well, in the yard of an old farm-house, and though the water was muddy, they managed to slake their thirst with it. True to their soldierly instincts, they embraced this opportunity to make a little coffee; but they had scarcely swallowed it before the booming of a cannon was heard, the sound coming from the direction of Fair Oaks. During the afternoon, several large fuse-shells, fired from this gun, fell about the yard of the house, but none of the men were hurt. As the day waned, the firing of artillery increased. The main body of the Confederates appeared to be advancing from the direction of the Chickahominy, and as they neared our lines, cautiously feeling their way, they opened fire with several field-pieces. This fire was vigorously replied to by our batteries, and continued till five o’clock, when, as if by general consent, it suddenly ceased. A state of almost complete stillness existed for about fifteen minutes, during which a thick cloud of dust was seen rising up among the trees, about a mile in front of our lines, indicating the approach of a large body of troops, for the dust-cloud came nearer and nearer to us every moment. Suddenly the whole mass of the Confederate infantry debouched from the woods on the easterly side of Savage’s house, and sprang forward with wild yells and screams toward the open ground in front of the station, filling the ravine at the foot of the hill on which stood the troops of Sumner and Franklin; for Heintzleman had, from some misunderstanding, retreated toward White Oak Swamp early in the afternoon.

General Sedgwick’s division, being nearest the railroad, was the first to receive the fire of the enemy; but his men met it most valiantly, showing a firm front. Not an inch of ground was yielded to the enemy; and now the foe, ranging themselves along the track in an extended but compact line, began firing over the bank into our equally compact lines. The two armies were now face to face, and only a few yards apart. The enemy must be dislodged at any cost of life, no matter how great; and several brigades, among them the brigade of Vermont troops, were ordered to charge them. The Green Mountain boys started from the brow of the hill on a sharp run; the musketry of the enemy swept their whole line from right to left; they staggered and huddled together, as troops are apt to do when exposed to a dreadful fire, and for an instant they nearly paused, dreading to go on. Looking back, they saw the Sixty-ninth New York and other troops pressing on close behind; their line immediately straightened, and again they dashed toward the ravine from which was issuing a sheet of flame. Passing their left flank, the Sixty-ninth New York, with fixed bayonets, ran straight toward the gorge, and with an impetuosity so characteristic of them, and such as few troops can withstand, rushed directly upon the enemy’s soldiers. The Vermont troops, and others on their right, followed the brave example of the dauntless Irishmen, and in less than three minutes the railroad was ours; the thoroughly-routed enemy were running wildly and in great confusion for the woods in their rear, their flight being hastened by a shower of shells thrown from our batteries stationed on the crest of the hill. While this remarkable charge substantially checked the advance of the enemy, it did not end the battle; for we were contending with the veteran troops of Magruder, themselves trained in all the most daring feats of war, taught by their fearless commander never to quit a fight as long as the slightest hope of victory survived. At the time the fighting on the railroad was in progress, a body of the enemy made their appearance on the track near Fair Oaks, moving down on our left, and following a locomotive which propelled in front of it a flat car on which was mounted a heavy cannon. As soon as this movement was discovered, the left wing of the Twenty-ninth was ordered through the woods to check it. This was done in a very complete manner, a single volley from our men causing an immediate retrograde movement of the enemy. Dislodged from the railroad, the Confederates, who filled the woods on our right, now appeared in force in that quarter, and began a sharp attack on a portion of Franklin’s corps. This, like the first, was of short duration; but it dwindled into an irregular fire of musketry, and lasted till nearly nine o’clock. As it grew dark, the sky became black with storm-clouds. Vivid flashes of lightning shot through the heavens, followed by deep and sullen peals of thunder,—“nature’s artillery.” Presently rain-drops began to patter down upon the dusty field, cooling the parched earth and the smarting wounds of the victims of the battle. The storm that followed was tropical in its character and very severe, ending at once all hostilities. In the midst of the drenching rain, when it was near midnight, the jaded troops of Sumner and Franklin quit their field of victory and entered the dark forest on their route to the James.