guns, across the trail of which Lieutenant Brower lay dead, had been retaken and those who had held it sought refuge in the railroad cut. So daring and desperate had been the unexpected onset made by this small band of Union officers and soldiers that the Confederate advance was not only checked, but stopped; and never during the brief remaining hour of the day was there a serious effort made to follow up the advantage gained in the first charge. Three of Dauchey's guns were actually hauled off by our men; the fourth, which had been detached and sent farther down the intrenchments to fire up the Halifax road, being too much within the range of the enemy's musketry to be withdrawn.

The situation was this: The enemy occupied the whole face of the intrenchments and the railroad cut, which, as stated, was parallel thereto. Their rifles. also commanded the inside of our intrenchments some distance down each return. Murphy's brigade, of Gibbon's division, along the left return, had fallen precipitately back when Brown's and Sleeper's batteries were taken. Our line was now drawn across the ground inclosed by the works, parallel to the face of the intrenchments and to the railroad, and distant from the latter two or three hundred yards. Gregg's cavalry still held its place firmly in our left rear, having thrown off all attacks, while upon the new front Werner's New Jersey battery, the only one which could be brought into action.

-Dauchey's recaptured guns being without ammunition-replied with undaunted courage to the fire of all the Confederate batteries, now concentrated upon it from three sides. In front were eight brigades of infantry, flushed with victory, and on the left a greatly superior force of cavalry. Yet Hancock was most reluctant to relinquish to the enemy the final possession of any part of the field; and Miles, though his division was reduced to a skeleton, was hot to recommence fighting. He had already got some of his men over the breast works on the right, where they were joined by the brigade of cavalry which we spoke of as covering our right rear. Gregg, too, promised to join from his side in a general advance to retake the captured works. But when the question was put to Gibbon, that officer was compelled to admit that he could not hope to bring his troops up. Rugg's brigade had largely gone into the enemy's hands; Murphy's regiments had been badly disorganized by the enfilading and reverse fires to which they had so long been subjected and by their own hasty retreat when the Confederates broke through along the railroad. Even the gallant Smyth had to say that his brigade could not be relied upon for an aggressive movement. There was nothing left for Hancock, there

*

*Colonel, afterward General, Thomas A. Smyth, killed at Farmville, April 7, 1865, the last general officer on the Union side who fell in the war.

fore, but to submit to the hard fate which had befallen his command. The blow to him had been an awful one. "It is not surprising," writes Morgan, "that General Hancock was deeply stirred by the situation, for it was the first time he had felt the bitterness of defeat during the war. He had seen

carry the in

his troops fail in their attempts to trenched positions of the enemy, but he had never before had the mortification of seeing them driven and his lines and guns taken, as on this occasion; and never before had he seen his men fail to respond to the utmost when he called upon them personally for a supreme effort; nor had he ever before ridden toward the enemy followed by a beggarly array of a few hundred stragglers who had been gathered together and pushed toward the enemy. He could no longer conceal from himself that his once mighty corps retained but the shadow of its former strength and vigor. Riding up to one of his staff, in Werner's battery, covered with dust and begrimed with powder and smoke, he placed his hand upon the staff officer's shoulder and said: Colonel, I do not care to die, but I pray God I may never leave this field!'" The agony of that day never passed away from the proud soldier. "Were I dead," said Nelson, "want of frigates' would be found written on my heart." So one who was gifted to discern the real forces which in us make for life or for death, looking down on the cold and pallid form of Han

cock as he lay at rest beneath the drooping flag of his country on Governor's Island, in February, 1886, would have seen Reams's Station written on brow and brain and heart as palpable as, to the common eye, were the scars of Gettysburg.

Night was now coming on, and Hancock sent back to halt the re-enforcements approaching the field, which, had they been sent by the Halifax road, they would easily have reached before the main assault fell. He had no fear of further attack from the enemy, who seemed content to let him alone. It was more than two hours since the Confederates had gained their signal success, yet so stubborn up to the very moment of panic had been the resistance offered by our troops, so savage had been the onslaught of the small column which retook and carried off Dauchey's guns, that they showed no disposition to renew hostilities. After dark Hancock drew off his broken battalions. At the same moment the enemy began their march back to the Petersburg lines, carrying with them nine guns, seven colors, and seventeen hundred prisoners. Of Hancock's staff, Captain Edward B. Brownson, commissary of musters, a most gallant, devoted, and accomplished officer, had been killed; the assistant adjutant general, Colonel Walker, had been captured.

The Second Corps returned to the Union lines, which it had left for the ill-fated expedition to Reams's Station, reduced in numbers and sad at

heart. In the language of a few paltry souls that had heard its customary praises with something of envy, "its comb had been cut." But not from the commander of the Army of the Potomac or from the great silent chief who ordered all the armies of the United States came one word of reproof or of blame. General Meade did not even allow the night to pass without sending a message of consolation to the faithful lieutenant who had never failed him in act or thought, and whose perfect subordination had throughout the whole campaign been as conspicuous as his resolution, daring, and address in battle. Before midnight came, the gallant, knightly gentleman at the head of the Army of the Potomac sent this dispatch:

"HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,

"11 P. M., August 25, 1864. "DEAR GENERAL: No one sympathizes with you. more than I do in the misfortunes of this evening. McEntee gave me such good accounts of affairs up to the time he left, and it was then so late, I deferred going to you as I intended. If I had had any doubt of your ability to hold your lines from a direct attack I would have sent Willcox with others down the railroad; but my anxiety was about your rear, and my apprehension was that they would either move around your left or intervene between you and Warren. To meet the first contingency I sent Willcox down the plank road, and for the second I