---Gen.
Rosecrans of the Union Army is directed to pursue Beauregard’s withdrawal south
into Mississippi.
---Gen.
Robert E. Lee, the new commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, directs his
engineer officers to plot out a line for extensive defensive fortifications to
defend Richmond.
---Lieutenant
Josiah Marshall Favill, a young officer in the 57th New York
Infantry, writes in his journal his recollection of the Battle of Seven Pines:
June 3rd. Thank heaven I am still
alive, and have gone through the stirring events of the past four days with
credit, and am entirely unharmed; the only loss being my sword hilt, which was
truck by a bullet and shattered to pieces, and so here I am again, at my old
diary; criticising and having a good time all by myself. No one actually
engaged in battle knows much about the details of the fight as a whole, at the
time; if he can remember distinctly what happened under his own eye, he does
well. The general details must be learnt after the fight. Of course certain
officers, as staff and general officers, have greater facilities for
observation than regimental officers, but in this particular fight, no one
could see twenty yards ahead of him, and so it was all guess work. My account,
therefore, of the battle, will not be complete, but to show what the regiment
really did, I shall insert the official report of three of the prominent
captains, besides giving an account of what I saw myself. . . . arriving there
we found the stream swollen to a mighty flood, rushing swiftly down the river.
There were no signs of banks, or crossings, all being overflowed, the water
coming far up over the meadows on either side. The bridge over which we
expected to cross, was completely undermined, and wholly impracticable, and so
to get across we must ford the stream. The general gave the order, and our
brigade led the way fearlessly stepping into the seething waters and feeling
their way across. The current was so strong that it was all the men could do to
hold their feet, particularly in the middle of the stream, where the water
reached their hips, and made it necessary for them to hold their arms and
ammunition, high above their heads; every now and then, a misstep sent some
unfortunate, over head and ears, . . . Here we found a series of deep ditches,
running parallel to the river, intended ordinarily, to drain the marshy banks,
but now entirely hidden from view by the rising waters; we could only locate
them by somebody suddenly dropping out of sight, occasionally whole ranks at a
time; as the current was very swift, the danger was considerable, not to
mention the discomfort. File after file bobbed under water, as they reached
these hidden ditches, and were sometimes extricated with difficulty. My gallant
old friend, Captain Kirk, stepping out at the head of his company, slipped into
one of them, and although six feet tall, went entirely out of sight. His men
soon yanked him out, . . . inwardly
rejoicing I was not as they, on foot, when Horrors! I was floundering in the
water, paddling away for dear life to keep myself from drowning, while floating
down the current. My horse had stepped into one of these execrable ditches, and
stumbled head over heels. Some of the fellows pulled me out, while others
caught my horse, laughing; thinking it a great joke, as I did myself, after I
got the water out of my mouth, and boots; but it was beastly uncomfortable on
horseback, with boots and pockets full of water, and if I had not had so much
to do, should probably have been very wretched. . . . We . . . did our best to get up before dark, but
the roads were so bad, and the men so handicapped by their wet clothes, that we
did not reach the battlefield until after dark, when the action for the day was
over. Just before reaching Fair Oaks, we passed over a piece of scrub oak,
strewn with dead and wounded men, and heard from the dark recesses of the woods
the cries of wounded men calling for help. We hurried forward, coming out near
a railroad track, marched across a large open field, and formed in line of
battle, facing southward. This field had been the battle ground, stubbornly
held till after dark by our men. There were many dead and wounded scattered
about, and several parties of hospital attendants were searching the field for
wounded, carrying lanterns, which looked like will-o-the-wisps, flitting here,
and there, over the vast dark space.
. . . after a few
minutes’ anxious watching, we heard the voices of rebel officers, forming their
troops in front of us for the attack, and also the crackling of boughs, and
noise made by the men in forming; we peered long and anxiously into the dark,
heavy woods, hoping to see them before opening fire, when suddenly, without any
warning, a heavy musketry fire opened all along the enemy’s line. The noise was
tremendous; and the bullets whistled about our ears like hailstones, tearing
branches, twigs, and leaves from the trees. The horses reared and plunged, and
the center and left of the regiment were thrown into some confusion, but most
of the men stood their ground, and opened fire. I rode along the line towards
the right close behind the men, encouraging them to keep closed up, and blaze
away. Captains McKay and Kirk were at once conspicuous for activity, and in a
few minutes, the line was straightened out, and delivering an effective fire. I
noticed the enemy’s aim was high, and cautioned the men to aim low. The firing
rolled in long continuous volume, now slacking, now increasing, until it seemed
as if pandemonium had broken loose, and all the guns in the world were going
off at once. With all the frightful racket, I did not fail to notice how few
men were being hit, and told the men to take advantage of the little danger,
and fire to some purpose. The enemy did not advance, and in the course of half
an hour or so, which, of course, seemed twice as long, slackened their fire,
and apparently withdrew; our wounded were removed, and the line reformed, or
rather, straightened out, and then the colonel ordered the men to lie down and
open fire the instant they saw anything in front. . . . It was not long before a deafening volley was
fired into us again, at apparently a greater distance than the first attack.
Sergeant Stuart, the color bearer, and Lieutenant Folger and several men were
killed by this volley, the rebels firing much lower than before. They advanced
after the first volley, and came within thirty yards of us, when they received
a magnificent fire, steady, effective, and determined; our fellows had no idea
of giving way this time, and stood their ground; the trees were riddled, and a
heavy shower of branches and leaves continuously fell upon our heads. The air,
in fact, seemed full of bullets, and yet so few were hurt we began to think
they could not hit us. While the second attack was at its height, McKay and I
were on the right, and noticed that the rebel line did not extend as far as
ours, which I reported to the colonel, who immediately directed us to wheel the
two right companies inward, and sweep the line in front, taking the enemy in
flank. We quickly made the movement, French watching us. The moment the men
opened fire, the rebels broke and ran, getting away as fast as they could;
General Richardson came up just at this time, and immediately ordered the whole
brigade out of the woods, so the batteries could sweep it clear with canister
and shell; we filed out in quick time, forming behind the guns, which opened at
once, filling the woods with bursting shells and showers of iron hail. It was a
dreadful thing for the wounded men, who were unable to move, but seemed to be a
necessary evil. . . .
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| Burying the dead in the aftermath of Battle of Seven Pines |
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