d to the White
House, thence to embark to City Point, while the remainder of the army
was to cross the Chickahominy far to the right of the rebel position,
and march to the James river.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the long hospital train of the Sixth
corps moved out toward the left a few miles and halted for the corps,
which withdrew from the works after dark, and marched with great
rapidity toward the left. The other corps also withdrew from their
positions, and the whole army moved off down the Chickahominy, the
Second corps in advance. The march was kept up all night, a short halt
only being allowed in the morning near Dispatch Station. Then the column
pressed on again, the men almost suffocated with the dust, which hung
over the column like a huge cloud; no halt was made at noon, and the
men, deprived of their coffee, choked with dust, and burned with heat,
marched wearily toward night. The sun was sinking in the west, tinging
the clouds with purple, and crowning the distant hills with gold, when
we crossed the historic Chickahominy. Two years before we had crossed
the same stream not far from this very spot. Through how many
vicissitudes of army life had we passed since that time. The stream was
not wide, and its banks were well defined where we crossed. Indeed, at
this point, there was nothing in the appearance of the stream that would
convey any idea of the difficulties which it had once presented to the
Union army. The corps bivouacked on high grounds a mile from the river,
glad to rest from the toiling march.

We were early astir on the morning of the 14th; taking our line of march
through a delightful section of country where the comfortable farm
houses and fine residences presented a striking contrast with the
desolations to which we had become accustomed. As we began to descend
from the high lands toward the plain, on which stands the little cluster
of houses called, in southern fashion, Charles City, we beheld, in the
distance, the James river, lying in all its loveliness, spreading widely
between its banks. A magnificent prospect opened before us. The river in
the distance bordered by green fields, one undulating slope four or five
miles wide, and twice as long, presenting a scene of surpassing beauty.
There were large fields of grain already yellow and nearly ripe for the
harvest, green meadows lay in the beautiful valleys, the gentle breeze
dallied with the tassels of the long rows of corn, whic