of Colonel Averill, did not leave the field until ten o'clock on the 2nd of July, and the last of the wagons reached Harrison's Landing on the 3rd.

On the morning of the 3rd a small force of the enemy having followed up the rear guard and taken an advantageous position, opened with shell, to which our guns responded. The Reserves were drawn up about nine ✓ o'clock in an open field where they stood in the mud up to their knees with shells bursting and round shot whistling over their heads until three in the afternoon, when they were marched to a neighboring field, and bivouacked on the banks of Herring creek.

While this change of base from the Pamunky to the James river was progressing, the White House was successfully evacuated with comparatively a trifling loss of stores, etc. No less than seven hundred vessels were in the river at the time, all of which were successfully removed. The last of our wagons left under guard of General Stoneman's cavalry, not a man or contraband being left behind, and the telegraphic communication with General McClellan was not severed till one o'clock, P. M., on the 28th, and at seven o'clock the enemy made their appearance in the neighborhood of the White House, where they were welcomed with shell and grape from three gunboats in the river.

Thus ended the "Seven Day's Battles," which will ever be viewed by military men, as one of the greatest feats of the war. Never did such a change of base, involving a retrograde movement, and under incessant attacks from a most determined and vastly more numerous foe, partake so little of disorder. The immense artillery and wagon train, the latter if stretched out in one line, extending nearly forty miles, the Commissary and Quartermaster's stores, the ammunition, a drove of twenty-five hundred cattle; in fact, the army and its entire material, horse, foot and dragoon, bag and baggage, was transferred successfully with an incredibly small loss of material. The movement was conducted with perfect order. There was no trepidation or haste, no smashing up of wagons by careless or fast driving, yet there was no moment for repose, no opportunity scarcely to properly care for the wounded; and the dead, excepting at Mechanicsville, were left unburied. The enemy closely watched every movement, and with an army more than double that of our own, had the ability to constantly launch fresh troops upon our rear, an advantage which they were quick to discover, and remorseless in improving. Their perfect knowledge of the roads, paths and bridges, the topography of the country which took us time to learn, placed an immense advantage in their hands, yet they were, excepting in one instance, unable by their utmost efforts to drive us from any field.

Our army regarded the movement as the carrying out of a necessary plan, and the only dissatisfaction expressed being at the leaving behind of so many of the wounded. We have no hesitation in asserting, and without the least fear of contradiction, that upon the arrival of the army at Harrison's Landing, the morale of it was almost as good as ever, and that the men had such unbounded confidence in McClellan that they would fearlessly have followed him at any time if he had assumed the aggressive.

While an advancing army loses nothing in men and material by capture, it is necessarily the reverse with a retreating one, besides, though it may be successful in every battle, it loses the advantages of following up its victories, which are transferred to the enemy. Though this naturally has the tendency of weakening the morale of an army, such did not appear to be the case with ours, for the men went into every one of the many and protracted battles in most excellent spirits, and with full confidence of victory.

Throughout the whole struggle the Union and Confederate troops displayed upon every field the most desperate bravery and indomitable courage, and learned by the noble qualities they discovered, to respect each other. Never upon the field did we see an act of cruelty done, and the testimony of our wounded, and the surgeons who remained with them, was to the universally kind treatment they received from the privates of the enemy. It is to be regretted that the same cannot be said of their officers, and all unite in attesting to the bitter animosity and heartlessness shown by the non-combatants and civilians.

After the battle of Glendale, Doctor E. Donnelly, the surgeon of our regiment, among others, volunteered to remain behind and take charge of our wounded, and from him we subsequently learned many interesting facts in regard to their treatment and condition. He was placed in charge of a hospital improvised upon the battle-field near Nelson's house, where were collected our wounded in the outbuildings and on the surrounding lawn. The only assistance he had was from young Hartman, Company K, and some Confederate privates, who volunteered to help. These men carried in the wounded, or moved them into the shade, brought them water, and divided their scanty rations among them. They spoke and acted towards them with the greatest kindness, but the sufferings of the poor boys were great. With no medicine or stimulants, with a scanty supply of rags and water, and the help of Hartman and these men, the doctor amputated the limbs and dressed the wounds of hundreds, who were sinking from the loss of blood, and the want of food. But no medicine, liquor, food or assistance could be obtained from the officials, one of whom deliberately stole the doctor's case of instruments while he was performing an operation.

On the day of the battle of Malvern Hill a large number of citizens from Richmond visited the battle-field of New Market cross-roads, anticipating the pleasure of seeing our army surrender. None of them, however, showed the least disposition to assist our wounded, though to satisfy their curiosity they walked among them, and were very inquisitive and rude in their inqui

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ries, and some of them were shameless enough even to steal their canteens and cups-articles that then were worth more than gold to the helpless fellows, who laid for days afterwards upon the field, burning with fever and without a mouthful of water to quench their thirst. One man, and we are sorry to say that he was a minister of the Gospel, so far forgot the precepts of his Master, the Prince of Mercy, and the better feelings of his heart--if he ever had any-in his bitter hatred of Union soldiers, as to commence upbraiding as "mercenaries" and "hirelings," the poor wounded sufferers, some of whom had lost their limbs, and others, from whose wounds maggots were crawling. When suffering all the anguish that mortals are heir to, when faint with the loss of blood and nervous excitement, this paroled prisoner of h--l, clothed in the sacred garb of religion, taunted and denounced these poor creatures over whom the guardian angels of heaven were weeping. It is, though with unfeigned pleasure, that we contrast with this the conduct of Doctor Hill Carter, a most worthy and estimable gentleman, whose house was also used as a hospital for our wounded. Doctor Carter, though a secessionist, not only put all he had at the disposal of our surgeons, but he and his family assisted, to the utmost of their ability, to alleviate the sufferings of the wounded, and their kindness will ever be remembered with gratitude by those whose sufferings they alleviated. All the wounded were subsequently removed to Richmond, though some of them not until a week afterwards, they lying upon the field during that time exposed to the burning rays of the sun of the day, and the cold dews of the night. Some of these, whose wounds were undressed, died on the road, and one relates the fiendish expression of an ambulance driver, "that corduroy roads were bully to haul wounded Yankees over."

Upon their arrival they were stowed away in Libby prison, a loathesome hole, foul with the stench of two water closets and the putrefaction of the bodies in the

dead house underneath, which were exposed to their sight through a large open grating in the floor of their apartment. A little medicine, and that stolen from our surgeons, was doled out to them. A pittance of tainted beef and hard crackers was given each day, without a change of clothing, or blankets to cover themselves with at night, or water to wash with in the morning, they were huddled together by hundreds, and this was the treatment they received from the Government. But the treatment they received from the soldiers was universally kind. When we say soldiers, we do not mean the guards around the prison, who had never been upon the field, but the men who had fought them, and had learned to respect a brave foe. With these they were all right. On the field, when we drove them from positions formerly held by us, we found in many cases our wounded had been supplied with water and sometimes placed behind logs or trees in sheltered positions, and at Glendale, when several of the enemy were taken prisoners and were being sent to the rear, although they were under a heavy fire, they picked up and carried off 'a wounded Union soldier. Many other acts of kindness were frequently displayed upon the field, that showed there was not felt the bitter animosity and vindictiveness shown by civilians and politicians.

At Malvern Hill, the morning after the battle, both parties had pickets stationed upon the field, and the enemy were permitted to remove their wounded, but they fired upon our men when they approached for the same purpose. This may have seemed cruel, but it was a military precaution on their part, that doubtless was deemed justifiable, as it was of vital importance to them to conceal from us the extent of their disaster, the demoralization and position of their troops.

The position now occupied by our army was a line of heights, some three miles long and about two miles from the James, and the plain extended from them to the river. As these heights commanded the whole position,

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