JUNE 29TH.—The battle still rages. But the scene has shifted farther to the east. The enemy’s army is now entirely on this side of the Chickahominy. McClellan is doggedly retiring toward the James River.
Friday, June 29, 2012
June 29th, Sunday.
“Any more, Mr. Lincoln, any more?” Can’t you leave our racked homes in repose? We are all wild. Last night, five citizens were arrested, on no charge at all, and carried down to Picayune Butler’s ship. What a thrill of terror ran through the whole community! We all felt so helpless, so powerless under the hand of our tyrant, the man who swore to uphold the Constitution and the laws, who is professedly only fighting to give us all Liberty, the birthright of every American, and who, nevertheless, has ground us down to a state where we would not reduce our negroes, who tortures and sneers at us, and rules us with an iron hand! Ah! Liberty! what a humbug! I would rather belong to England or France, than to the North! Bondage, woman that I am, I can never stand! Even now, the Northern papers, distributed among us, taunt us with our subjection and tell us “how coolly Butler will grind them down, paying no regard to their writhing and torture beyond tightening the bonds still more!” Ah, truly! this is the bitterness of slavery, to be insulted and reviled by cowards who are safe at home and enjoy the protection of the laws, while we, captive and overpowered, dare not raise our voices to throw back the insult, and are governed by the despotism of one man, whose word is our law! And that man, they tell us, “is the right man in the right place. He will develop a Union sentiment among the people, if the thing can be done!” Come and see if he can! Hear the curse that arises from thousands of hearts at that man’s name, and say if he will “speedily bring us to our senses.” Will he accomplish it by love, tenderness, mercy, compassion? He might have done it; but did he try? When he came, he assumed his natural rôle as tyrant, and bravely has he acted it through, never once turning aside for Justice or Mercy. . . . This degradation is worse than the bitterness of death!
I see no salvation on either side. No glory awaits the Southern Confederacy, even if it does achieve its independence; it will be a mere speck in the world, with no weight or authority. The North confesses itself lost without us, and has paid an unheard-of ransom to regain us. On the other hand, conquered, what hope is there in this world for us? Broken in health and fortune, reviled, contemned, abused by those who claim already to have subdued us, without a prospect of future support for those few of our brothers who return; outcasts without home or honor, would not death or exile be preferable? Oh, let us abandon our loved home to these implacable enemies, and find refuge elsewhere! Take from us property, everything, only grant us liberty! Is this rather frantic, considering I abhor politics, and women who meddle with them, above all? My opinion has not yet changed; I still feel the same contempt for a woman who would talk at the top of her voice for the edification of Federal officers, as though anxious to receive an invitation requesting her presence at the Garrison. “I can suffer and be still” as far as outward signs are concerned; but as no word of this has passed my lips, I give it vent in writing, which is more lasting than words, partly to relieve my heart, partly to prove to my own satisfaction that I am no coward; for one line of this, surrounded as we are by soldiers, and liable to have our houses searched at any instant, would be a sufficient indictment for high treason.
Under General Williams’s rule, I was perfectly satisfied that whatever was done, was done through necessity, and under orders from Headquarters, beyond his control; we all liked him. But now, since Butler’s arrival, I believe I am as frantic in secret as the others are openly. I know that war sanctions many hard things, and that both sides practice them; but now we are so completely lost in Louisiana, is it fair to gibe and taunt us with our humiliation? I could stand anything save the cowardly ridicule and triumph of their papers. Honestly, I believe if all vile abusive papers on both sides were suppressed, and some of the fire-eating editors who make a living by lying were soundly cowhided or had their ears clipped, it would do more towards establishing peace, than all the bloodshedding either side can afford. I hope to live to see it, too. Seems to me, more liberty is allowed to the press than would be tolerated in speech. Let us speak as freely as any paper, and see if to-morrow we do not sleep at Fort Jackson!
This morning the excitement is rare; fifteen more citizens were arrested and carried off, and all the rest grew wild with expectation. So great a martyrdom is it considered, that I am sure those who are not arrested will be woefully disappointed. It is ludicrous to see how each man thinks he is the very one they are in search of! We asked a twopenny lawyer, of no more importance in the community than Dophy is, if it was possible he was not arrested. “But I am expecting to be every instant!” So much for his self-assurance! Those arrested have, some, been quietly released (those are so smiling and mysterious that I suspect them), some been obliged to take the oath, some sent to Fort Jackson. Ah, Liberty! What a blessing it is to enjoy thy privileges! If some of these poor men are not taken prisoners, they will die of mortification at the slight.
Our valiant Governor, the brave Moore, has by order of the real Governor, Moïse, made himself visible at some far-distant point, and issued a proclamation, saying, whereas we of Baton Rouge were held forcibly in town, he therefore considered men, women, and children prisoners of war, and as such the Yankees are bound to supply us with all necessaries, and consequently any one sending us aid or comfort or provisions from the country will be severely punished. Only Moore is fool enough for such an order. Held down by the Federals, our paper money so much trash, with hardly any other to buy food and no way of earning it; threatened with starvation and utter ruin, our own friends, by way of making our burden lighter, forbid our receiving the means of prolonging life, and after generously warning us to leave town, which they know is perfectly impossible, prepare to burn it over our heads, and let the women run the same risk as the men. Penned in on one little square mile, here we await our fate like sheep in the slaughter-pen. Our hour may be at hand now, it may be to-night; we have only wait; the booming of the cannon will announce it to us soon enough.
Of the six sentenced to Fort Jackson, one is the Methodist minister, Mr. Craven. The only charge is, that he was heard to pray for the Confederate States by some officers who passed his house during his family prayers. According to that, which of us would escape unhung? I do not believe there is a woman in the land who closes her eyes before praying for God’s blessing on the side on which her brothers are engaged. Are we all to cease? Show me the dungeon deep enough to keep me from praying for them! The man represented that he had a large family totally dependent on him, who must starve. “Let them get up a subscription,” was General Butler’s humane answer. “I will head it myself.” It is useless to say the generous offer was declined.
From Library of Congress:
Title from back of card.
Summary: Stereograph showing wounded soldiers on railroad cars at Savage’s Station, Virginia.
Photographed by Brady & Co. (Washington, D.C.),
Part of the series, Photographic History. The War for the Union. War Views. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C.
Record page for this image: http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2010648600/
Sunday, 29th—We had inspection this morning at 8 o’clock by the general inspector. Colonel Hall and Captain McLoney arrived from home this morning. The Colonel had been wounded at Shiloh and went home to let the wound heal. Mrs. Hall is with the Colonel in camp and the men of the regiment have great respect for her; she is so kind to the sick in the regimental hospital.
29th. Sunday. Started from camp at 5 A. M. Marched by long road from Neosho towards Cowskin. Encamped on a high piece of ground, over an excellent spring of water.
Off Norfolk, Sunday Evening, June 29.
We are coaling here to-night, and leave at daybreak for Harrison’s Bar, James River, where our gunboats are said to be. We hope to get farther up, but General Dix warns us that it is not safe. What are we about to learn? No one here can tell.
29th.—’Tis the Sabbath—the appointed day of rest. To us how little of rest, of quiet, either to mind or body, it has brought! After the fatigues of the last three days and nights, our army lay last night on its arms, and this morning, at 3 o’clock, without breakfast, we were on the march, and as the first light of day revealed to us the immense heaps of commissary stores abandoned by the road, the truth that we were stealing away could no longer be concealed. The burning of these stores would disclose the fact to the enemy, and they were therefore left to fall into their hands. Are we then to give up all the anticipated pride of a triumphal march into Richmond? Must we hang our harps upon the willows, and forego the paeans which we were to sing here on the downfall of the Rebellion? Must we abandon the remains of the thousands on thousands of our comrades, who have perished here in the ditches, unhonored and unknown, without having been permitted to strike a soldier’s blow for government against anarchy? There is a retribution for some one. Till now this want of efficiency has been attributed to the powers at Washington. At present much of the blame is being laid at the door of our Commander-in-Chief, and I fear he deserves it. He has certainly committed many errors. His vast army, the best of modern times, has accomplished nothing. Early in the day it became evident to us that the watchful enemy was aware of our movements and was on our track, and everything of value was now destroyed. Runners were sent ahead to dam up the little streams near ammunition depots, to wet the powder and to drown the thousands of boxes of cartridges there deposited. Thousand on thousands of new muskets, of Springfield and of Sharp’s rifles, were bent and broken over logs and stones. Barrels containing whisky, molasses, sugar, were broken in, bridges destroyed, and locomotives blown up. Delayed by work like this, by marching and by countermarching to protect our long transportation trains, 4 o’clock P. M. found us only about four miles from where we had started. For thirteen hours we had marched, after a night of watching, and the men had not yet had their breakfasts. On our arrival at Savage’s Station we found the large building crowded with the wounded of the battles of the two days previous. Hundreds of tents were pitched around, from all of which came the groans of the sufferers, and the yard was filled with our poor mutilated men, with an army of surgeons and nurses moving amongst them. As we left this Station the booming of cannon in our rear told us a that this day, too, must have its fight. In the terrible heat of the day we moved on. We had not, however, proceeded more than a mile when we were overtaken by couriers calling us back to reinforce the rear, which was now preparing to engage the pursuing enemy. Back we marched. On again reaching Savage Station we found two immense lines of battle nearing for the conflict. We had a long line of batteries in position just in the edge of a wood fronting an extended plain over which the enemy was advancing. In rear of artillery our infantry lay in ambush. Our artillery was the coveted prize, and over the level plain came rushing on the long lines of the enemy at a full charge of bayonets. Our batteries had anticipated this, and were charged with grape and cannister, which they withheld till the mass came within easy range, then belching forth, their iron hail, the whole front was absolutely shot away. For a moment the enemy recoiled, but it was momentary as the recoil of the ocean’s wave as it breaks on the impending rock, then down they came again, but again belched forth the angry cannon, and again a line was swept away. But to this immense host of enthusiastic pursuers numbers were nothing, and a third time it came rushing on. They were now too near for our artillery to be effective, but at the moment up rose in its rear our long line of ambushed infantry, and the setting sun was saluted by the roar of a hundred thousand muskets. Again reeled the staggering foe, and “forward, charge!” and the battle of the 29th—the battle of Savage Station—was ended. The enemy were repulsed with immense loss, and we resumed the march, leaving the dead and wounded and our large hospital filled to overflowing in the hands of the enemy. All night we marched, stopping at 2 in the morning, and after a march of twenty-three hours, almost without food, rested for about three hours.
An Excursion.
June 29. Companies C and B, together with Capt. Schenck’s New York battery company as infantry, returned yesterday afternoon from an expedition across the Neuse river, having been gone three days. We crossed the river Thursday morning, the 26th, and started out on a reconnoissance, tour of observation, scout, raid or whatever else it might be called, Capt. Schenck in command. We penetrated into the country some four or five miles, coming out at a cross road. There in the shade of the woods we halted for rest and lunch. Put out a few pickets to prevent surprise, I should think they were out about twelve rods from the column, which made it comparatively safe. After a little time, and while we were having a kind of picnic, there was a stir among the pickets in the rear and it was reported they had made a capture. The authorities went out to see what was up, and soon returned with an old horse and cart containing a few bags of meal and driven by a couple of grown-up girls, or more properly speaking, young ladies. They were returning from mill and were pretty badly frightened on finding themselves prisoners of war. The officers behaved towards them with the utmost gallantry, assuring them that no harm should come to them. On these assurances they were soon comforted and seemed to regard it as rather a good joke. After holding them close prisoners of war about a couple of hours, they were paroled and allowed to go their way.
We resumed our march and about two miles farther on came out at another cross road. Here we left a few pickets and proceeding a mile or so farther, came out to Latham’s plantation. This is the finest plantation 1 have yet seen, a large two-story modern-built house, with large, nice lawns and surroundings, the road and driveways set with shade and ornamental trees, and everything kept up sleek and nice, showing thrift, wealth and refinement. Here on the lawn in front of the house, we bivouacked for the night. This Latham is a battery captain in the Confederate service, and we had a hack at him, capturing his battery at the battle before Newbern. He is now somewhere in the Confederacy, but just where deponent saith not. Mrs. Latham was greatly surprised at seeing us, and had made no preparations to receive us. To relieve her embarrassment as much as possible, the boys left her to entertain the officers in the mansion while we took care of ourselves. The boys brought from the barn about two tons of husks and corn leaves, spreading them under the rosetrees on the lawn for beds. They then milked the cows, killed the chickens and pigs, emptied the hives of their honey and made all necessary preparations for our comfort during our stay. The darky women in the kitchen were kept busy with their fry-pans, hoe-cakes and coffee-pots until a late hour in the night, and never before were there guests at Latham’s whom they were more pleased to see or more willing to serve. This was truly the land flowing with milk and honey, and the boys revelled in luxury far into the night, after which they sought rest and repose under the roses. In the morning, the darky women asked if they might go with us over to Newbern. They were told they might and to pick up their traps and follow along. As we were about leaving, Mrs. Latham inquired of Capt. Schenck who was to pay her for the damage we had done. The captain told her to make out her bill and one of these days Uncle Sam and Latham would have a settlement, and she could then work it in. As we moved out of the yard we were joined by the darky women, toting big bundles on their heads. Mrs. Latham came running down the lawn, shouting after them at the top of her voice, “Here, Kitty, Peggy, Rosa, Dinah, where are you going with those horrid men? Come right back here this minute!” The women, looking back over their shoulders and showing immense rows of ivory, replied to her, “Goo-bye, missus, goo-bye! spec we’es gwine ober to Newbern; goo-bye, missus, goo-bye!” and we marched off down the road, leaving Mrs. Latham alone to reflect on the vicissitudes incident to a state of war. . I must needs say, however, that after being so hospitably entertained, it was a rascally, mean trick to run off the servants and leave our sleeping apartments in such a disordered condition. But then, Latham had no business to be away from home. He should have been there, ready to entertain company.
Arriving back at the cross roads, we found the boys all right and gave them a share of the good things they had been deprived of the night before. We stayed here all day and night, and not seeing or hearing anything, returned to camp yesterday afternoon. What the results of this expedition will be, remains for the future historian to record. The trophies were two prisoners of war paroled, four darky women, one horse, a big yellow dog and lots of fun. What the object of this expedition was, I presume will always remain among the mysteries of this cruel war, but there is little doubt but the object was accomplished, as the generals say.
June 29
Just before daylight next morning, the 29th, the entire corps, under cover of a slight fog, withdrew from the works, and massed just in rear of them. The picket line was left in front, in order to deceive the enemy as long as possible as to our movements, at the risk of its ultimate capture. At sunrise the fog lifted, exposing the abandoned works to the enemy’s view from Gaines’ mill, Franklin, who had occupied the works on our right, moved to the rear, and right, taking a position from the Chickahominy, to Savage’s Station, which protected our rear. As there was nothing to prevent the rebel army from closing in upon us, we prepared for an immediate attack. Summer, surrounded by his staff, sat on horseback from long before daylight, anxiously awaiting the order to retire. Zook, French, and a crowd of staff officers formed another picturesque group, while the men lay down, quietly waiting for orders, apparently unconcerned. About 8 o’clock, the order came to fall back in the direction of Peach Orchard and Savage’s Station, and was promptly obeyed. Near Peach Orchard, the column was halted and dispositions made to hold the ground. Our division had the right of the line, connecting with Franklin; Sedgwick came next, connecting with Heintzleman; and so we formed an immense arc, the right resting on the Chickahominy, the center on Peach Orchard, and the left on White Oak swamp. Our brigade took position in the front line, Caldwell now commanding Howard’s brigade, forming the second line, with Hazzard’s battery posted just in rear. When everything was prepared to resist the advance of the enemy, heavy details were made to destroy the immense accumulation of stores the wagons were unable to carry away. There were thousands of boxes of bread, hundreds of barrels of whiskey, pork, beef, vinegar, molasses, etc., thousands of bags of coffee, piles of every kind of equipment, clothing, and a famous rocket battery, that had excited great hopes. All these things were quickly piled together, the whiskey barrels stove in, and then set on fire. The flames leaped from box to barrel, from base to summit, like a lightning flash, while black wooly looking clouds of dense smoke curled and rolled and spread over the surrounding country, advising the enemy beyond doubt of our intentions. In a few seconds, the fire became a seething furnace of white heat, from which all were obliged to run for their lives. As the fire reached the whiskey barrels, great explosions followed, filling the air with burning debris. It was a magnificent fire, and fully accomplished its end, but a sad sight to see so much valuable property destroyed, in order to keep it out of the hands of the enemy. As soon as the rebel officers saw the smoke and heard the great explosions, they cautiously advanced their line until they came within sight of our dear old works. Finding no one to defend them, they sent up a howling yell, and immediately occupied them. Our picket line had gradually retired as soon as we had taken up the position at Peach Orchard, and were now at the edge of the woods in which we were formed. Towards nine o’clock we saw the enemy forming his columns of attack, and moving towards Sedgwick’s front. Very shortly a number of guns opened upon us, and shelled the woods we were in. Hazzard’s battery replied over our heads, and the whizzing of shells flying both ways, made a great row. In a few moments the enemy’s infantry came up with the utmost confidence, but were met by a tremendous fire from the Fifty-third, Fifty-seventh, and Sixty-sixth regiments, commanded by Zook, French being sick. There was no confusion this time, nor hesitancy; every man stood to his work, and for over an hour, the fight was fast and furious; we holding firmly to our position and three times drove the enemy back with great loss. About ten o’clock Captain Pettit, the beau ideal artillery officer of the army, came on the field with his eight ten-pounder Parrots, and soon silenced the enemy’s guns. They advanced again later on, but hesitatingly. Our men delivered a well directed volley and amid ringing cheers, charged, and drove every thing before them, clearing the ground in front for over a mile. I was acting adjutant general of the brigade, and had a good opportunity of seeing what was going on. The last repulse was enough for the Johnnies for the time being, and they withdrew out of sight. The attack was general, from Franklin on the right, to Heintzleman on the left, everywhere persistent, and in some places impetuous, determined, and well maintained, but everywhere unsuccessful. The Stars and Stripes, fluttering in the breeze in the tangled mazes of the woods, or in the open fields, never sheltered more gallant men, than those who this day defended its sacred folds. There was no skulking, nor hesitancy, but a fearless determination to hold the ground at all hazards. As soon as the rebels were driven out of sight, we gathered up the wounded, and carried them to Savage’s Station, where the immense hospitals containing over twenty-five hundred patients, were established. When this was done, we contracted our lines about Savage’s Station, again taking a defensive position, to protect the retrograde movement. Here we found Slocum’s division just preparing to follow Heintzelman into the great swamp, which began at the declivity of a steep hill, a short distance in rear of the Station. We formed in front of the station, connecting on the right with Smith’s division of Franklin’s corps, which extended to the Chickahominy, and on the left with Sedgwick, who continued the line to the swamp, covering the roads over which the troops were retreating. The enemy had discovered our intention by this time, and were swarming across the Chickahominy by thousands, eager to complete the annihilation of the Union army, which they seemed to think a foregone conclusion. Great bodies of rebels were reported marching down the Charles City, Darbytown, and Long Bridge roads, which intersected our line of march within the dismal swamp, and matters certainly looked very serious, but did not make us in the least despondent. General McClellan took every precaution for guarding these threatened intersections, stopping a full corps at every threatened spot, and only retiring when another had come up, and was ready to take its place. Soon after taking position, we examined the ground in rear, and found in an immense field near to the swamp, a great park of wagons, ambulances and artillery, and several thousand men, in close column, awaiting their turn to move along. We saw at once that it would be necessary for us to hold the ground till long after dark, to enable them to get away, and so we returned to the front, and busied ourselves with strengthening the lines. About three o’clock the enemy appeared in force all along the line; clouds of skirmishers covered the advancing lines of battle, which soon drove in our pickets. We held our fire until they came within easy range, and then poured volley after volley into them, and the artillery, well posted, fired shell and shrapnel with capital effect. The firing easily kept the rebels in check although they formed and broke, and formed again, several times during the afternoon. Their losses were enormous, but they evidently thought it worth the while to risk everything to capture the Grand Army. Just before sunset a heavy line of infantry, under cover of a heavy artillery fire, marched boldly up to within a few hundred yards of our position, delivered a deafening volley, and then, amidst the wildest yells, gallantly charged our whole front. Our men stood like rocks, carefully reserving their fire till the rebels got within a hundred yards of them, then opened such a murderous fire, that half the advancing hosts were placed hors du combat. At once, observing the effect of the fire, our line gave one grand Union cheer, and charged at the point of the bayonet, driving everything before them. The smoke was so dense we could see nothing for a while, which stood the enemy in good stead, and enabled many of them to get away who otherwise would have been captured; as it was, we got many and killed them by the score. The woods in front now being cleared, we fell back to our original position, and awaited orders to retire. The artillery, however, keeping up a steady fire of shells, to let them know we were still on guard. After dark the situation became horrible; everywhere about us the ground was strewn with dead and wounded men and the cries of the latter in the still night air were most distressing. Stern necessity compelled us to leave most of them where they fell, to bleed to death, and to suffer unspeakable anguish in the dark sombre woods, or star lit fields. A great many, near the station, were brought in by parties from the hospitals, but as the hospitals were full, they could only place them on the grounds surrounding the large tents. Still, this was better than lying alone in the distant fields, and all were anxious for even this relief. The numerous parties, searching the fields and woods, with lanterns, gave a weird and melancholy appearance to the surroundings. There must have been several thousand rebel dead and wounded scattered about the fields, most of whom, being furthest away, were entirely neglected. About nine o’clock, the colonel and I rode to the rear, to see how the retreat was progressing, and were glad to find the wagons, ambulances, and artillery all gone; their small deserted camp fires alone indicating the position they had occupied. A column of infantry, moving at a rapid pace down the hill into the black swamp, showed the column was well under way, so we returned to our command, to await orders. On our way back, we rode past the great hospitals, and were astonished to see such a multitude of wounded men. Hundreds of those brought in from Peach Orchard and the evening’s battlefield, lay on the ground about the tents, and hard-working surgeons, lanterns in hand, were going amongst them here and there, saving a gallant life by timely aid. It began to rain as we rode past, which added to the distress of this great multitude of wounded and dying men. Something after nine o’clock, an aide from General Richardson rode up, and informed Zook that his brigade would form the rear guard, assisted by two light twelves from Thomas’s battery, which had been ordered to report to him. We mounted our horses, and impatiently waited the signal to withdraw, which came about ten o’clock. I was ordered to ride in rear of the column and keep the colonel informed as to the situation; and so while the colonel passed to the right I went to the left, notifying regimental commanders to move off by the left flank; as we used no bugles or drums, it was necessary to convey all commands by aide or orderly. We marched out of the woods, past the hospitals, and down the declivity leading into the swamp. I took a position just at the edge of the swamp under the shadow of the huge dark pines, sitting on horseback, entirely alone, watching the troops as they rapidly marched past, occasionally taking in the gloomy prospect above, where thousands of our bravest men were to be deserted, and left to the mercy of the enemy; luckily, not entirely so, as we left nearly five hundred doctors and attendants, besides enormous supplies for their use. From my position, I could see the will-o-the-wisp lanterns of the hospital parties moving about the battle field, still searching for wounded men, and the dying embers of abandoned camp fires, but everything else was shrouded in darkness, not a single star being visible in the heavens.
The column came stretching over the hill, like some great serpent, only occasionally distinguishable by the reflection of a stray camp fire on the bright bayonets, except directly in front, where it formed a solid dark mass, moving rapidly forward, controlled by a single mind. As the last regiment passed by, I detached the rear company and ordered the section of artillery to take its place, the company to follow about two hundred yards in rear. The guns were loaded with cannister in readiness to make it uncomfortable for any one attempting to hurry our movements. Now we opened our haversacks, and as the horses and men stepped out at a rattling pace, ate the first mouthful of food since early dawn, and washed it down with copious supplies of eau de vie. There were no obstructions ahead, and the men marched so rapidly, they crowded the horses all the time. It was amusing to notice the anxiety of the horses to keep up with their companions; they seemed to recognize the necessity for keeping well closed up; and whether their riders were asleep or awake, carefully kept their places in the ranks. There was no straggling, as that meant certain capture; and so it happened that scarcely a word was spoken by any one throughout the night, and the pace never relaxed. We occasionally encountered a broken down wagon, which was summarily pitched into the swamp with its contents, and the column passed along again, making every effort to get across before daylight. Another road, running parallel to this on our right, was used by troops of Franklin’s corps, but was not within sight, or hailing distance. They both emerged from the swamp at the White Oak swamp stream, a deep river, only passable by bridges, separating the swamp from the high rolling ground on the other side. Our object was to get across the swamp, destroy the bridges, and take a defensive position on the high ground on the other side before daylight hold it during the day, and continue the retrograde movement the following night. This allowed for the movement of the trains, and was essential for the safety of the whole army. We found the utmost difficulty in keeping awake, having had no sleep the preceding night; I went off several times, but Billy never lost his place, and did just as well without my guidance. On either side of us the swamp was knee deep in water, and probably three times that depth, in mud, effectually securing our flanks, so that there was no danger from attack except in rear: our whole energy therefore, was confined to moving ahead as fast as possible. It seemed a terribly long night; I thought of Zenophon and his nine hundred and all the other notable retreats I could think of, and wondered whether they were any better soldiers than we, or capable of making greater efforts.
June 29.—The British steamer Ann was cut out from under the guns of Fort Morgan, at the mouth of Mobile Bay, by the United States steamer Kanawha. She ran in during the night, passed the blockading fleet, and as it was very dark, she could not be seen by the vessels.
Lights had been kept burning on the fort ah night, so that she had no trouble in finding the channel. This morning she was discovered by the Susquehanna, within a half-mile of the fort, unloading her cargo into a rebel steamer alongside. The Susquehanna, accompanied by the Kanawha, then got under weigh, and steamed within gunshot and opened fire, which was returned by the fort, and kept up for an hour on both sides. In the mean time the crew deserted the steamer. She was soon discovered to be adrift, and dropped down with the current about a mile, when the Kanawha was ordered to go in and bring her out, which she did under a heavy fire from the fort.
—The battles of Peach Orchard and Savage’s Station, Va., were fought this day.—(Doc. 78 and Supplement.)
—A fight took place at Henderson, Ky., between a company of the Louisville Provost-Guard, supported by a detachment of Captain Andrew’s Michigan battery, and a force of rebel guerrillas, which resulted in the complete rout of the latter.
—Moorefield, Va., was this day captured by a body of Ashby’s cavalry, eighty-six in number, under the command of Colonel Harris. A large company of the Maryland Home Guard occupied the place at the time, but they made no defence, having been informed that the rebel force was four thousand strong. They were taken prisoners, and were released next day.
—General Halleck, at Corinth, Miss., issued an order authorizing the protection of the mail service in his department.—The bombardment of Vicksburgh was continued to-day. The firing commenced at noon, and, with the exception of an intermission of an hour, did not cease until about twelve o’clock at night.
