Kitabı oku: «The Romance of Modern Sieges», sayfa 13

“‘When the tale of bricks is doubled, Moses comes!’

“I never more firmly believed in special Providence than at that hour. Even sceptics for the moment were converted, and said: ‘God has sent her!’ But how insignificant she looked! She was but a speck on the dark blue sea at night, almost a laughable object by day. The enemy call her ‘a cheese-box on a raft,’ and the comparison is a good one. Could she meet the Merrimac? The morrow must determine, for, under God, the Monitor is our only hope now.”

Lieutenant Worden, the Commander of the Monitor, on arriving at Fort Monroe was instructed to lie alongside the Minnesota, to guard her in case of a night attack. At eleven o’clock she set out, and her arrival was hailed with delight by the men on board the frigate, though some shook their heads at the strange unshapely toy which a private individual had constructed to save the Federal fleet. But few slept that night. The odds against the Monitor seemed too great. She mounted but two guns, while the Merrimac carried ten. Sunday morning broke sunny and beautiful, and the sea was peaceful and calm. Near Sewell’s Point, opposite Hampton Roads, three vessels were at anchor, one of them the Merrimac.

About nine o’clock glasses showed a stir amongst them, and instantly the Monitor awoke to life and action, closing her iron hatches and putting on the dead-light covers. The Monitor, like a great girdle-cake, only stood 2 feet out of the water; her smooth surface was broken only by the turret and pilot-house.

Then they saw the Merrimac coming, looking like a submerged house, with roof only out of the water. After her came the Jamestown and Yorktown, and a fleet of tug-boats crowded with ladies and gentlemen from Norfolk eager to see the fun.

The Merrimac, entirely unconscious of the new enemy she had to encounter, steamed slowly along and fired upon the Minnesota, which was still aground. The Minnesota replied with a broadside and the usual result; but the Monitor steamed out from behind and boldly advanced to meet her antagonist, and when at a distance of half a mile Lieutenant Worden from the pilot-house gave the order to fire. The ball, weighing 170 pounds, rattled against the mailed side of the Merrimac. She staggered under the force of the concussion, and at once seemed to realize that in this floating turret she had no mean antagonist. At the range of only a few yards she poured in a terrible broadside. To her disgust, the shots seemed to have glided off and done no harm. Then the two vessels closed and poured a hail of heavy metal upon each other. The Monitor being the quicker, would circle round the Merrimac, while the turret, turning with ease, always presented the guns to the foe.

Worden in his pilot-house could speak through tubes to Lieutenant Green, who commanded the gunners in the tower. Once Green trained his guns on the Merrimac’s water-line, and the shot penetrated.

“Splendid, sir! splendid!” roared Worden. “You have made the iron fly.”

But the spectators who lined the ramparts of Fort Monroe could not see what was happening for the clouds of smoke, and they stood, silent and wretched, almost afraid to look.

But at last the veil parted, and they saw the little Monitor lying alongside the Merrimac, trim and spiteful, with the Stars and Stripes flying proudly from her stern, and a great cheer arose from every throat. Then they saw the Merrimac bear down upon the little flat cheese, as if to sink her. She struck fair and square, but the iron ram glided up on her low-sheathed deck and simply careened her over; but in so doing the Merrimac showed her unarmed hull below the iron coat of mail, and the Monitor planted one of her shots in a vital place.

For four long hours had this strange duel lasted, the Merrimac firing heavily, the Monitor steaming round and choosing her place and time, with careful aim at rudder, screw, and water-line. At last Buchanan, the Commander of the Merrimac, was severely wounded, and as his ship began to take in water through three gaping wounds, the helm was put over and the conqueror of yesterday limped away. But her last shot struck point-blank upon the iron grating of the pilot-house just where Lieutenant Worden was looking out. The concussion threw him down senseless, and minute pieces of iron and powder were driven into his eyes, so that he was blinded. When after a time he recovered his consciousness he asked:

“Have I saved the Minnesota?”

“Yes, sir, and whipped the Merrimac,” was the reply.

“Then I care not what becomes of me,” murmured the Lieutenant.

The Merrimac slowly made her way to a safe anchorage under the batteries at Sewell’s Point. Here she signalled for help, and tugs came up, took her in tow, and escorted her to Norfolk. Her injuries were so severe that after months of work upon her she never ventured to quit her retreat, whereas the Monitor seemed but slightly damaged. She had been hit twenty-two times, and only showed slight indentations, but a ball striking full on the pilot-house had bent a huge iron beam. The ram of the Merrimac had torn off some of the plating from the side of the Monitor. The latter drew only 10 feet of water, and could go where the Merrimac could not venture.

But though the Merrimac had fired her last shot, she gave the North a great fright in the night which followed the battle. At midnight thousands of people along the coast were roused from their sleep by cries that came over the water: “Fire! fire! For God’s sake, save us!”

The shore was soon lined by spectators, who stood unable to get a boat to put out or help in any way. There was the gunboat Whitehall roaring with flames, and the dark figures of the crew were plainly visible on her deck, either wrapped in red fire or jumping into the deep water beneath.

The Whitehall’s shotted guns were going off here and there through the thick crowds or clustering houses, and one shell struck the hospital, making the inmates believe that the Merrimac had returned. It transpired that a red-hot shot had been thrown from the Merrimac during the day and had lodged between the Whitehall’s timbers, where the fire smouldered until late at night.

The general conclusion from this momentous fight between the first ironclads was that “England’s naval supremacy is gone for ever.” But men are more potent than masses of metal. America and England have navies now in comparison with which the Merrimac and Monitor are but tin kettles. Yet we must remember that Russia, too, a few months ago possessed a strong navy as far as metal goes. But once again the Japanese proved to the world that it is in the hearts of brave men, the science of clever men, and the enduring patience of patriotic men, that the issues of victory or defeat are mainly determined.

CHAPTER XV
CAPTURE OF NEW ORLEANS (1862)

New Orleans and its forts – Farragut despises craven counsel – The mortar-fleet in disguise – Fire-rafts rush down – A week of hot gun-fire – A dash through the defences – The Varuna’s last shot – Oscar, aged thirteen – Ranged before the city – Anger of mob – Summary justice – Soldiers insulted in the streets – General Butler in command – Porter nearly blown up in council – Fort Jackson in ruins – “The fuse is out.”

New Orleans, on the Mississippi River, was the great market of the South, a rich and powerful city of 200,000 inhabitants. Everything possible had been done to defend it from the Northern arms. Sixty miles below New Orleans the river makes a sharp bend, and here, fronting each other on either side, stood the forts of Jackson and St. Philip. These strong forts the Confederates had seized, and the Federal fleet had to pass them on its way to New Orleans. They were heavily armoured with 180 pieces of ordinance, but besides the forts the warships would have to cut through an iron cable stretched across the river and supported by seven hulks and rafts. Above these were eighteen gunboats and floating batteries, with fire-rafts and rams; so that the city felt itself tolerably secure behind these obstructions, and laughed to scorn any thought of being besieged. Besides, had not English and French officers examined the forts and pronounced the attempt to pass them madness? But Commodore Farragut, who was in command of the National fleet, answered them in these words:

“You may be right, gentlemen, but I was sent here to make the attempt. I came here to reduce or pass the forts and to take New Orleans, and I shall try it on.”

The Federal mortar-fleet was getting ready for action. Topmasts were lowered, all spars and booms unshipped, the main-decks cleared, and armour of chain cables was improvised to protect the gunners. The ships were painted with mud to make them invisible. On the 17th of April the order was given to advance up-stream. There was a thick forest on the western bank, a low bank and marshy ground on the east. In order to confuse the enemy, the masts and rigging of the Northerners were festooned with leafy branches; others were sheathed with reeds to blend with the background of the river-bank. Five sloops of war waited behind the mortar-boats, carrying 104 guns; 150 boats supplied with grapnel-ropes, axes, and buckets, were ready to deal with the fire-ships. And they soon had the work to do, for one dark night a blazing raft came down upon them, lighting up water and bank, trees and rushes; but the Westfield dashed into the burning pile and turned her hose upon it; and the boats leapt forth to hack and grapple and plunge the burning timbers into the river. Then cheers broke forth when the peril had been subdued.

At 9 a.m. of the 16th of April Fort Jackson threw a shell into the Northern flotilla a mile off, and at once the mortar-boats replied, sending their big shells with great accuracy into the very ramparts. New Orleans, seventy-two miles away, distinctly heard the thunder of the bombardment, kept up for more than a week. The citadel was set on fire, the walls cracked and shattered, and the forts were flooded. The men on deck would fall down and sleep in the midst of the great thunder, so exhausted were they by toil night and day. On the second day the Carleton received a shell into her magazine, which exploded, and she sank. At the end of a week, after all this terrible storm of flying metal, only one man had been killed and six wounded in the Federal fleet. But the forts had not been silenced.

On the 24th of April, at 2 a.m., two red lights were run up on the flag-ship, and very soon the fleet was under way for the passage between the forts. As each ship passed it delivered its broadside and swept on towards the gunboats beyond. Fire-rafts kept floating down, and the roar of 500 cannon shook the air.

The Ithaca was riddled by shot and fell behind. The ram Manasses came down on the flag-ship, and Admiral Farragut got aground while trying to avoid her. His ship took fire from a fire-raft, but it was extinguished.

Captain Boggs in the Varuna sunk five gunboats one after another, then his vessel’s sides were stove in by a ram; but with his last broadside before he sank he disabled her. A boy named Oscar was on board the Varuna, only thirteen years old, and during the fight was very busy passing ammunition to the gunners. All covered with dirt and powder-begrimed, he was met by Captain Boggs, who asked where he was running in such a hurry.

“To get a passing-box, sir. My other was smashed by a ball.”

When the Varuna went down with her crew Boggs missed the boy, and feared he was among the drowned. But presently he saw the lad gallantly swimming towards the Oneida, a neighbour ship. Oscar clambered on board, dripping and grinning from ear to ear, as if he had just enjoyed the finest fun in life. Seeing his Captain, he put his hand to his forehead in the usual salute, and saying, “All right, sir; I report myself on board,” shook off the water and was ready for the next duty to hand.

On the morning of the 25th the Federal ships ranged up near the city batteries and silenced their fire in a few minutes. Soon the whole fleet was moored opposite New Orleans, with the Stars and Stripes proudly flying from every masthead, and the bands playing their national airs.

The citizens of New Orleans had rested in full persuasion that they were absolutely safe behind their forts and gunboats, and now that they saw the enemy actually threatening their city, they were transported by a passion of panic, mortification, and rage.

When they first heard that the forts had been passed and that the Yankee ships were coming up the river, the mob of the city became so desperate in their fury that martial law had to be proclaimed. At least, they said, these hated Yankees should not get the wealth of the city, and they put the torch to everything that would burn. Offices, banks, ships, cotton, piers, warehouses, coal, and sugar – all were fired and consumed in one vast conflagration. The river was dotted with floating islands of flame, as richly freighted merchantmen were fired and cut adrift.

The Confederate General Lovell and his troops were withdrawn, as no reasonable promise of a successful defence remained.

Two iron rams of immense power which had been in building were destroyed before Admiral Farragut arrived.

As soon as the fleet appeared before the city some of the citizens who favoured the Union foolishly expressed their delight by cheers. Civil war is always conducted with greater bitterness than war with a foreign Power. These unfortunates were promptly shot down in the street or on the quay.

On the 26th of April the city was formally surrendered, and a body of troops was landed to raise the Stars and Stripes over the public buildings. Crowds of angry men followed the marines with hoot and yell, and were only prevented from inflicting actual outrage by the fear of being shelled from the ships. It is said that Captain Bailey and his men on landing at the crowded pier were jostled and jeered at by angry bands of rowdies. We have to remember this when we pass judgment on General Butler’s order to treat all ladies who insulted the troops as disorderly women. We may wonder how the Germans would have treated the French in Paris had the Parisians dared to conduct themselves so outrageously.

General Butler writes thus to a friend: “We were 2,500 men in a city seven miles long by two to four wide, of 150,000 inhabitants, all hostile, bitter, defiant, explosive – standing literally on a magazine. The devil had entered the hearts of the women to stir up strife in every way. Every opprobrious epithet, every insulting gesture, was made by these bejewelled, becrinolined and laced creatures, calling themselves ladies, towards my soldiers and officers from the windows of houses and in the streets. How long do you think our flesh and blood could have stood this?..”

It is clear that General Butler was as angry as the ladies. The Albany Journal adds this fact: “Women who have been regarded as the pattern of refinement and good breeding not only assail our men with the tongue, but with more material weapons. Buckets of slops are emptied upon them as they pass, decayed oranges and rotten eggs are hurled at them. The forbearance of our troops is wonderful.”

Commander Porter had been left behind to receive the capitulation of the forts Jackson and St. Philip, when the Federal fleet steamed up to New Orleans. He pitched a few shells into Fort Jackson, but there “was no response; the fight had all been taken out of them.” On the 28th a flag of truce from Fort Jackson came on board the Harriet Lane with offer to surrender. When officers of both sides were assembled in the cabin of the Harriet Lane discussing the details of surrender, an officer came below and informed Commander Porter that the Southern battery Louisiana had been set on fire and was drifting down upon them. She was a steam floating battery of 4,000 tons, mounting sixteen heavy guns. The battery had been fired so quietly that no one suspected any such thing until it blazed up, for flags of truce were flying upon both forts and ships.

Porter proceeded with the conference as if nothing were the matter. Soon another officer came down, reporting that the battery, on fire from stem to stern, was drifting down upon them.

Turning to the Confederate officers, Porter asked: “Has she powder and loaded guns on board, gentlemen?”

“We presume so, but we know nothing of naval matters here.”

Just at this moment the hot guns began to go off and throw shot and shell at random amongst friends and foes.

Commander Porter, with severe coolness of manner, only said: “Then we will go on with our business, gentlemen. If you don’t mind the effect of the explosion which is soon to come, we can stand it.”

Fortunately, the Louisiana drifted across towards St. Philip, and exploded her magazine when just abreast of it. The sound of the explosion was heard for miles up and down the river. When the smoke cleared away the battery had gone into fragments and sunk in the Mississippi. If it had drifted upon the Harriet Lane, as had been intended, and blown into smithereens the consulting officers of both North and South, that would have been a consequence of treachery almost worse than the insults of the New Orleans ladies or the indiscreet edict of General Butler.

Fort Jackson had crumbled into powder under the impact of the huge shells from the mortars. On the first night of the bombardment the magazine was in such danger that only wet blankets saved it from blowing up. One bomb came leaping into the officers’ mess-room when they were dining. With a thud and a rumble it rolled under the very table. All rose and clustered in a corner in some consternation, expecting to go skywards with the crockery. They waited one minute, two minutes. Not yet had death come! Then a young officer crawled under the table and burst into a hearty laugh.

“What is it, Jimmy?”

“Oh, you can go on with that Irish stew now. The fuse is out.”

They returned to their dinners with such appetite as they could. Fortunately, men who are living at high pressure and strain, meeting death at every turn, are easily moved to see the funny side of things.

CHAPTER XVI
THE SIEGE OF RICHMOND (1862 AND 1865)

Fair Oaks a drawn battle – Robert Lee succeeds Johnston – Reforms in the army – Humours of the sentinels – Chaffing the niggers – Their idea of liberty – The pickets chum together – Stuart’s raid – A duel between a Texan and a German – Effect of music on soldiers – A terrible retreat to James River – Malvern Hill battle-scenes – Three years after – General Grant before Richmond – Coloured troops enter the Southern capital in triumph – Lee surrenders – Friends once more.

The battle of Fair Oaks had been fought, and General McClellan began to entrench himself in view of the siege of Richmond. It had been a drawn battle: the South had taken some guns, but the Federal forces were too strong for them, and swamps, rough ground, and woods all helped to throw the South into confusion. Upon a field hardly a mile square were lying some 7,000 or 8,000 dead and wounded, many of them having been there for twenty-four hours. Some had gone deep into the muddy swamps and stuck fast there, dying or laying the foundation of some terrible disease. Acres of forest had been slashed, or cut about 5 feet from the ground, to prevent the passage of troops and artillery.

The Southern Commander-in-Chief, General Johnston, had been killed by a shell in this battle, but the substitution of General Robert E. Lee as Commander led to great reforms in the Confederate Army. Lee at once removed the camps from malarious swamps; he provided supplies of wholesome provisions, and reclothed the hungry, starving and mutinous men, so that in a few weeks they looked stronger, fought better, and behaved as men under discipline.

Every evening the countersign was given out, and sentinels were posted to prevent spies crossing the Chickahominy. In the Federal Army were men of many nations – Scotch, Irish, German, Norsemen, and others. It was told of an Irish sentinel that he stopped a stranger.

“Halt! Who comes there?”

“Me – a friend of the chaplain.”

“Have ye the countersign?”

“No.”

“Faith! an’ if ye were a friend of the divil and had no counthersign ye couldn’t pass this way – not on no account, sor.”

“But I tell you I am a friend of your chaplain, and I forgot to ask him for the countersign. Don’t you see?”

“Is that it, sor? Then, be jabers! what’s to prevint me giving to ye the counthersign, eh?”

“Nothing, I suppose, if you will be so kind.”

“Come closer, and, be jabers! I’ll just whisper it in your ear. There! Now stand and answer. Who comes here?”

“A friend.”

“A friend! Right! and maybe ye have the counthersign?”

“I have; it is ‘Good-night, mother.’”

“Quite correct, sor. Pass on, and good luck to ye!”

A long siege is such dull work that the Northerners used to amuse themselves by chaffing the young negroes when they caught them in the lines. Perhaps they would give the nigger-boy a bit of food, then suddenly say:

“Sambo, what relation are you to Jeff Davis’s coachman?”

The black eyes would roll and the whites enlarge as the grinning nigger replied:

“I ain’t no sort o’ connexion with that ere, sah.”

“You’re a Secesh, I reckon.”

“No, sah; I’m Union boy.”

“Oh, then we shall have to flog you, Sambo. Don’t you know that in this part of McClellan’s army we are all at heart good rebels?”

“Lord ha’ mercy! I never thought o’ that; and now I do think on it, I do agree dat I am a bit of a rebel, anyhow.”

Then all the listeners would burst out laughing at poor Sambo, and he left the camp befogged and bewildered.

Once an old grey-headed negro came into camp, and some young officers began to tackle him.

“Think we can take Richmond, boy?”

“Dar be right smart o’ men round here, but I dunno ’bout dar being able for to take Richmond, sah.”

“‘Right smart o’ men!’” said a Captain. “Why, this is only a flea-bite to what’s coming to eat up the rebel army. You’ll see them coming up like locusts. Here’s McClellan with half a million around here, and there’s Burnside down there, coming from Carolina with a hundred thousand more, and General Banks with two hundred thousand more, and General Fremont – why, he can’t count his men he has so many!”

The old fellow opened his eyes wider and wider as the list of imaginary armies was run over. Then, gazing up intently in the officer’s face:

“Got all dem men?” he asked in a subdued voice.

“Yes, and more.”

The negro threw out his arms and ejaculated:

“Oh! dear Mesopotamia! Whatever will become of massa, I wonder?”

The negroes wanted to be free, but they did not want to work. Many of them who had run away from their masters were employed by the Federals in unloading stores. They worked from daylight until dark, singing over it, talking, shouting, arguing, making such a shindy. A Virginian negro never did a quarter of a day’s work on his master’s plantations, and they soon found out the difference when they became free niggers and earned wages. They did not much relish their rise. A party of niggers would come up to the Colonel’s tent.

“Well, boys, what made you leave your master? Wasn’t he kind to you?”

“Oh yes, massa berry kind – berry kind indeed.”

“Well, didn’t he give you enough to eat?”

“Oh yes, plenty of dat, plenty of dat – ’nuff to eat.”

“Well, boys, what made you leave him?”

“Why, de trufe am dat he made us work ’mong sugar-canes,” said one.

“And we heerd ’bout de Norf am such a nice place, so we tort dat we would go to um,” said another.

“Nice place? Why, how do you mean a nice place?”

“Well, sah, we was told dat nobody did no work up dar.”

Even the white peasants in Virginia seemed to be lazy and indolent. They lived in little cabins, and only the very young or old were left, as every able-bodied man was in the army. They were dressed in homespun and spoke with a drawl. They did not wish to be richer, content with one acre and a single cow – Tories of a most old-fashioned kind; and the women, like the Boers, were far more dangerous rebels than the men, and tried to entrap unwary Federals when they got them drinking in their houses.

All round by the river four miles from Richmond was a succession of dark swamp, yellow field, and brown hill-side. Batteries were placed on all the ridges, guarded on either side by woods and in front by earthworks. The Confederates on the other side of the river had fewer trees but stronger earthworks. On the 1st of June there was an artillery duel, begun by the Richmond batteries, but they had to beat a retreat into the woods before the precision of some German gunners. Sometimes the pickets of both armies were so close to each other that they made an agreement not to fire at one another. Then they got to exchanging newspapers and tobacco, telling the news, and altogether behaving as if they were rational human beings, and not machines sent to kill one another for political ideals far beyond their ken. Once when a New Jersey regiment was upon picket Federal scouts were being served with their allowance of coffee, and one of these latter observing a Southerner gazing wistfully at his smoking cup, beckoned to him to come over and have a drink. He came, drank, smacked his lips, and walked slowly back. Then he looked round and said:

“I say, friend, how many times a month do you fellows get this good coffee?”

“Oh, just three times a day,” said the Jersey man.

“Three times a day! Why, if that’s true I’ll not stay a day longer in the Confederate Army. Here, lad, I give myself up.” And the fellow actually let his friend take him prisoner.

On the 20th of June General McClellan reported that he had 156,839 men, but he could get no reinforcements, and the armies of the South were increasing. The rains were making quagmires all around, and disease was rife among the troops. About this time the Confederate General Stuart led a successful raid with 1,200 horse and two pieces of artillery round the rear of the Federals, driving in their cavalry pickets till he came to Garlick’s Landing, where he destroyed two schooners and many waggons and captured many prisoners. One Federal – a German Dragoon – scorned to fly with his comrades, and fought a duel with a Texan trooper. The German was a veteran in the wars of Europe, and attacked the Texan, who was a little in advance of his troop. Both were skilled swordsmen, and while they fought the rest pulled rein and looked on. The German sat his horse as if he were a part of the animal and wielded his sword with parry, cut, and thrust like lightning flash. The Texan, on his fleet barb, wheeled swiftly round and round, seeking in vain for an opening. At last the Texan slashed the German’s shoulder, and as blood spirted from the wound the Texans, looking on, raised a cheer. But as quick as thought, with a back-stroke the German cut through the sleeve and flesh of the Texan’s left arm, and his blood began to flow. Then the Texan backed his horse and spurred again upon his opponent, making a lunge at his breast. This the Dragoon parried with great dexterity, and brought down his sharp blade upon the other’s shoulder. Thereat the Texan wheeled his horse once more, drew a pistol and shot the Dragoon through the heart.

Colonel Estran, a Prussian officer in the service of the South, who witnessed this scene, but disapproved of the Texan having recourse to his pistol, writes thus: “Much moved by his fate, I ordered a grave to receive the remains of the brave German trooper. We buried him in his regimentals, with his trusty sword on his breast and his pistols by his side. I then sent for the Texan, and, after reprimanding him severely for his cowardly conduct, I ordered him to seek service in some other corps, telling him that I could not think of allowing a fellow of his stamp to remain in my regiment. The Texan scowled at me with his cat-like eyes, and, muttering a curse, mounted his horse and rode away.”

I think some of us may deem that the Texan was hardly treated by this Prussian officer who felt so indignant at the shooting of the German trooper. The Texan had received two severe wounds. He was not bound to fight only with the sword. He carried pistols; so did the German. Why? if they were not to be used, why carry them? It was the Texan’s duty to kill the German, and he did so. No wonder the poor fellow muttered a curse.

Days of disaster were coming for the Northern Army. They were spread along the river and through the swamps for more than twenty miles. The South could sally out of Richmond and strike any one point before support could be sent up. Part of the army was north of the river, part south. They dared not march on Richmond, now so strongly fortified, and to retreat was fatal. General Jackson had joined General Lee, and every day there was fierce fighting. In the battle of Gaine’s Mill, where the North lost twenty-two guns, the Federal General Butterfield at a critical moment came coolly down the knoll in the thick of a hot fire, and sword in hand, seized the colours, waved them aloft, and so encouraged the valour of his regiment, shouting:

“Your ammunition is never exhausted while you have your bayonets; and use them to the socket, my boys!”

Seventy thousand men were hurling grape, canister, and bullet against 30,000. It was one loud and continuous roar. It was only gradually that it was forced upon the Federal troops that they were beaten and were in full retreat to the James River.

Battles are like games of chess. The great thing is to bring as many pieces into play as you can and mass them on one or two points. The Federals had over 100,000 fighting men, but only 30,000 were engaged in the battle of Gaine’s Mill.

On the 28th McClellan wrote to the Secretary for War: “I have lost the battle because my force was too small. If I save this army now I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you or to any other person in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army.”

The Federal rearguard did their best to cover the retreat. They blew up the ammunition which had to be deserted, emptied the barrels of whisky and molasses, bent the muskets, and dismantled the forsaken waggons. But the roads were thronged with the sick and wounded, and hundreds lay down to die in the awful sun.