About two hours of comparative quiet followed this discomfiture of the enemy, during which the general surveyed the whole line, and every thing was made ready for the coming attack, and kept so. It was begun at six o'clock; and Porter and Couch received it. The whole artillery of the enemy suddenly opened upon them, and brigade after brigade came rushing forward to carry their position, but only to meet the crushing fire of a determined infantry, and the tempest of grape, canister, and shell that poured upon them from our massed artillery, with the enormous projectiles that came howling over the pleasant woods and fields from the great guns on the river. Until dark-and the battle was when the days are longest-the enemy persisted in their desperate efforts, but to no purpose. It was a day of useless slaughter for them, but of comparatively trifling loss for us. The darkness fell like a curtain, to close and conceal the sublime spectacle of the battle of Malvern Hill.

With the last shots fired by the artillery, after nine o'clock in the evening of this day, the fighting of the "Seven Days" ended. The troops had little rest that night, for a further movement was ordered as soon as the enemy were finally repulsed. By the morning of the following day the whole army was marching rapidly towards Harrison's Landing, on the James River. As there was but one main road, it was necessary to crowd it to its utmost capacity with artillery and cavalry, while the infantry went on each side. A heavy rain soon began to fall,-such a rain as is only felt in the

South: the road first became slippery, then muddy, then deep with mud. Through this clinging soil the weary horses dragged their loads, while on each side the living stream of infantry forced its toilsome way through the thick and dripping underbrush which bordered the road. Fortunately, the distance was not great, and the troops poured rapidly into the vast plain on the river, and sank to rest upon its trampled wheat, their journey ended, their great task accomplished. The woods of the Peninsula were on one side of them, beautiful in their midsummer luxuriance, and perhaps concealing indefatigable enemies; but on the other was the broad river, bearing on its calm waters the powerful gunboats which displayed the flag of our navy, and, thanks to the provident foresight of the general commanding, bearing also countless vessels filled with the ammunition and equipments, the food and the clothing, of which our troops stood so much in need.

Mr. Emil Schalk,-a severe military critic, and chary of praise,-speaking of the retreat from the Chickahominy to the James River, says, "This plan of defence reflects the highest credit and honor on the general who conceived and carried it out."* Such is the opinion, it is believed, of all competent judges, whether soldiers by profession, or civilians who have made the art of war a special subject of study. It was a military movement of great danger and difficulty, extending over several days, marked

* Campaigns of 1862 and 1863, p. 179.

throughout by admirable combinations and dispositions, in which nothing was overlooked, nothing was forgotten, and not a single mistake was made. The sagacious foresight, the calm self-reliance, the thorough professional knowledge, the vigilant eye, of the commanding general formed the power by which the whole breathing mass of courage and endurance was guided and propelled. And the conduct of the army was, to borrow General McClellan's own expression, "superb." The whole retreat was one unbroken strain upon their physical energies and moral force. They had to march all night and fight all day.

The nervous exhaustion produced by toil and want of sleep was aggravated by the excessive heat of the weather, by which many a manly frame was prostrated. The enemy were brave, vigilant, well handled, superior in numbers, and confident of success; but only at Gaines's Mill was any decisive advantage gained. At every point, at every moment, the Confederates had met organized courage, disciplined valor, the dauntless front of men who trusted in themselves and trusted in their commander; and at Malvern Hill the closing hours of danger and suffering were illumined by the blaze of victory, like the rich red sunset which ends a day of storm and cloud. And not only had our men fought admirably, but they had toiled patiently and intelligently. Guns were to be removed, wagons and teams were to be helped along, here a piece of road was to be mended, and there trees were to be cut down to obstruct the enemy's passage; and for all these labors the officers found quick faculty,

serviceable hands, and a willing spirit. When it is remembered that the carriages and teams belonging to the army, stretched out in one line, would have reached nearly forty miles, we can understand that nothing could have insured their safe removal in the face of an enemy but that universal training of the brain and hand found among a people who are all taught to handle indifferently the pen, the axe, the gun, and the spade.

The general in command, when the James River had been reached, had a right to look around with just pride upon the army now sheltered and safe. On the 28th, in the bitterness of his soul, he had said, in a telegraphic message to the Secretary of War, "If I save this army now, I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you, or to any other persons in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army." That army he had saved; and the army was conscious of it. But there was nothing of triumph in his own mind; for their safety had been won at fearful cost. Our killed, wounded, and missing from the 26th of June to the 1st of July reached the mournful aggregate of fifteen thousand. Of the sick and wounded, many had of necessity been left behind, but with a proper complement of surgeons and attendants and a bountiful supply of rations and medical stores.

And there was another consideration which might have deepened the sadness of his mind, if he had allowed his thoughts to dwell upon it at such a moment. He had conducted an important move. ment with a skill and success which an intelligent

military judgment could understand and appreciate; but still that movement was a retreat. This was the great fact present to the public mind. He had been compelled to abandon his position before Richmond; the place was not taken: he was a general in command of a large army, and had failed to accomplish the object of his own hopes. The facts and events which had rendered a retrograde movement necessary required some reflection to make them understood and some candor to make them felt. His knowledge of human nature, and of the bitterness and unscrupulousness of party, was enough to reveal to him the harsh judgments, the misconstructions, the injustice, the cruel insinuations, the calumnious charges, to which he had exposed himself by the crime of failure,-that crime which the public is so slow to forgive. He must have foreseen how the pert phrase-makers of the landwho conduct campaigns so admirably in their armchairs, and dispose of brigades and divisions as easily as they fold and label their letters-would strive to mangle him with their pens,-weapons more cruel than the tiger's claw or the serpent's tooth,and point out what he should have done, and should not have done, to have escaped the shame and disgrace of retreating before a rebel foe. Sir John Moore, dying in the arms of victory at the close of a successful retreat, said, "I hope the people of England will be satisfied: I hope my country will do me justice." His country, in time, did justice to that great man. Sooner or later, the world comes round to see the truth and do the right;