A Youth's History of the Great Civil War
Van Evrie, Horton & Co., ©1866
Revised edition, ©2006 www.ronie-mooney-encs.us
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CHAPTER XXVII, McCLELLAN'S RETREAT
With this last defeat all General McClellan's plans for taking Richmond were suddenly brought to an end, and his genius was taxed to keep his whole force from being gobbled up by Lee's victorious army. There was no alternative left but to retreat through the great swamp to the banks of the James River, where he could enjoy the protection of his gun-boats-those friendly supports which had so often saved General Grant from annihilation in the Western campaigns.
This retreat for the James River was therefore commenced immediately, and was conducted, as the Confederate commanders confessed, with consummate skill. After McClellan succeeded in getting the remains of his army to the James River, the Confederate General Hood remarked: "If Grant, or any other Federal general, except McClellan or Sherman, had had the conducting of that retreat, we should have caught the whole army."
Lee vigorously pursued the retreating Federals. His advance column overtook a portion of McClellan's rear on Sunday, the 29th of June, at Savage's Station, on the York River railroad. A sharp four hours' battle took place at this point. The Federals had strongly intrenched themselves, for the purpose of checking pursuit, and as soon as Lee's column came within range, they poured forth a murderous fire. After three or four hours of desperate fighting, the Federals were driven out of their trenches, and made double quick retreat to overtake the rest of the army. The Confederate General Griffiths, of Mississippi,a skillful and heroic officer, was killed in this engagement.
At daybreak the next day, Monday, June 30th, the pursuit of the retreating Federals was resumed by Lee's victorious army. But McClellan was conducting that retreat with matchless energy and skill, and Lee's forces had not proceeded many miles when they were surprised at a place called Fraizer's Farm, by a portion of McClellan's army which was skillfully covered by some sedge pines, which completely hid it from the view of the pursuing hosts. At the very first fire batteries of sixteen heavy guns opened upon the advance columns under General Hill. Instantly the Confederates rushed bravely forward into the very jaws of death. From several lines of battle they received the most murderous fire of musketry. The battle, though short, was one of the most deadly of the war.
Swinton, in his excellent history of "The Campaigns of the Army of the Potomac," says of this conflict: "Finally Randall's battery was captured by a fierce charge made by two (Confederate) regiments, advancing in wedge shape, without order, but with trailed arms. Rushing up to the muzzles of the guns, they pistoled or bayoneted the cannoneers. The greater part of the supporting regiment fled but those who remained made a savage hand-to-hand bayonet fight over the guns, which were finally yielded to the enemy." It is truly appalling to think of the slaughter of so many brave men on both sides, and all for the sake of forcing upon the negro a condition which he neither asked for nor knew how to enjoy.
The following is a story which an English officer gives of a talk with an old negro the day after the battle of Fraizer's Farm: "Returned from viewing as much of the field as was possible in the darkness, I observed a light in Fraizer's house, from which also there was smoke ascending. Feeling somewhat cold, and , as I expected, found it occupied by many of the wounded. Before the fire sat a middle-aged negro, wrapped up in a blanket and shivering.
"'What's a-miss, uncle,'taking a coal to light my pipe.
"'De Lor' bress you, massa! de chills, de chills.'
''Were you here, uncle, during the fight?' I asked, taking a stool.
"'No,sar! dis chile was in de woods! de best place, I tink, when dem ar bullets come a-whistling an' singing roun' yer head. Was I scart, eh? I tink I was scart-it was worse nor half-a-dozen scarts to this darkie. Well, you see, massa, it was dis way. When ole massa hert the Lincumbites was coming roun dese diggins, 'Pete,' says he, I'se gwine to Richmon, and I wants you ter see to things, an' mind de Lincumbites don't run off wid anything; they won't hurt you,' says he, 'but if dey only catches me, I'm a gone chicken.' Weel, massa, one ebenin while I eat supper, up comes a whole lot of Lincumbites, and says dey, 'Shar's de master, nigger?' "In Richmon,' says I, and' went on eatin; but a big fellow says to me, 'Hi, nigger, yer wanted out here,' and I went out. 'How many chickens has yes got?' says one. "Who's dem turkeys 'long to?' says another. 'If yer don't bring me some milk, I'll burst yer head," says one in de crowd.'Pull dat bed out here,' says another. "Tuch him up wid de bayonet," says another, and case I couldn's begin to speak to 'em all, sombody kicks me on de shin, and I runs in de house. One of de men wid traps on shoulders comes and makes 'em kind o'quiet, buy I find out dey hab stolen my supper, and de bed, and de chairs, and didn't leave me my ole pipe!'
"'If dis is de Union folks, tinks I, dey won't suit des darkie, sure! So after dey stole all de chickens, and de turkeys, and de cabbage and taters, I tought it was about time for dis chile to leave. So I packs up two or tre things in a handkercher, and puts out. 'Halt dar!' says a big feller, wid a gun. 'Where's yer gwine, darkie,' says he. 'I gwine to Richmon,"says I, ' to massa, to get something to eat.'
"'O, yer tick-headed nigger," says he, 'doesn't yer knew we's de great liberation army ov de norf, and come to set all de niggers free?'
"'I'se a free colored pusson, any how,' says I, 'and kin go anywhere I'se a mind,' and was gwine to pass him, when he hits me wid de gun, and two sodgers seizes me by de scruff ob de neck, and hauls me up before de kernal.'
"'Where did you cotch de contraban'?' says he, smoking a cigar, big-like, and frowing out his legs.
"'I'se a free man, sar,' says I.
"''Hole your tongue, says he, getting kind o' red; 'if dese people doesn't know de blessin' of liberty, dey must be taught, dat's all.' 'Take him off to de guard house, sargent,' says he, 'and kase I said I'se free, de sargent begins and kicks de cloth out ob my pants.'
'And dare dey hab me, massa, more nor a week, feedin' me and lots ob odder darkies on black beans and port massa's hogs won't eat. But when I hears de firing going on-now's de time for dis chile, says I, and I gets out ob de way right smart for an ole darkey. Fust I gets to de right, but de bullets fly so mighty thick I runs off somewhar else; den one ob dem big screechin' things comes along, and I begins to say my prayers mighty fast; den while I lay behind a tree, our folks comes up, makin' a big noise, and I lays berry close to da groun'; but I get mighty scart, and runs clar into de swamp, and dar I stays until just now, when I crawls home agin, shiverin' in every jint. Don't talk to me, massa, ob de norf. I knows how it is-dey only wants to work de life out ob de colored folks, and den dey gives 'em deir free papers, to let 'em starve. Dey can't fool dis chile-he knows more not he wishes to know "bout de great norfern liberation army.'
"De darkies better stay wid ole massa, and lib as he libs, and hab doctors to look afer'em, and hab dimes to spend. Dem Yanks is beg fools, and dey tink they's good as us, but dey ain't half as good as some darkies, if dey is white folks and talk big!"
Now this old negro was a fair specimen of the spirit with which the darkies generally regarded the abolition army. They were a thousand times more happy and contented than they will ever be again. It was hard work to teach them to hate their masters. It has cost us nearly a million of white men's lives, and four or five thousand millions of dollars, to force upon them what they did not want, and what they can never learn to use with benefit either to themselves, or to the superior white race.
After the last battle, at Fraizer's Farm, McClellan retreated during the night to a point where the right wing of his army rested under the protection of the Federal gun-boats in James River. His front was strongly intrenched in an admirably chosen spot at Malvern Hill. Never was a position better calculated for defence, or for delivering a terrible blow to an attacking force. This was McClellan's last stand, for he could go no further, except to fall entirely back to the bank of the River, under his gun-boats.
The Confederate forces at the battle of Malvern Hill were under the command of General Magruder, who ordered his infantry to charge in the very face of McClellan's formidable breastworks, behind which a hundred cannons, of the heaviest calibre, were in position to rain a perfect shower of grape and canister down through the open space, over which the Confederates must pass to reach them. But, at Magruder's mad command, the brave fellows rushed forward at full run, while instantly they were met by a murderous fire from McClellan's breastworks, which mowed them down like grass.
They were not merely repulsed, they were murdered. Again Magruder ordered fresh victims for the same slaughter, and again the gallant men rushed forward only to be killed. Still a third time the foolish command was given for more men to take the place of so many already slaughtered in the fruitless attempt. A soldier who was in McClellan's army at that time says: "I never saw such courage as those Confederate boys displayed at Malvern Hill. We were in a position where we could mow them down just like winrows, but on and on they kept coming, until the heaps of their dead might have been used as breastwords, could they have been reached without meeting the same certain death of their gallant comrades who had gone before!"
Thus the work of death went on until the merciful darkness put a stop to the slaughter. McClellan's works had not been carried, but the Confederates occupied the field, and pushed forward their pickets to within a hundred yards of his guns.
During the night McClellan withdrew as secretly as possible, and retreated to the bank of the River at Harrison's Landing, a position which was covered by his gun-boats.
This was the last battle of his disastrous retreat, and the end of his Peninsular campaign. Never before had so many stupendous plans miscarried. Never such great expectations brought so poor a termination. Instead of taking Richmond his whole army narrowly escaped destruction, and nothing at last saved it from being captured but the gun-boats in James River.
Some idea of the spirit which animated the Confederates may be judged off from the following incident. Major Peyton, a Confederate officer, while leading a regiment in one of the charges at Malvern Hill, had a young son, only fifteen years of age, struck down by a cannon ball. The boy in his agony cried out:
"Help, father, help me!"
"When we have beaten the enemy," was the father's stern reply. "I have other sons to lead to glory. Forward men!"
But a few minutes elapsed before another cannon ball lay the father bleeding by the side of his son.
Never did a more gallant people draw a sword than these Southern men.
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