r the pieces, asleep. Not any of the entrenched posts among the
frontier Indians were more enveloped in wilderness than this. The trees
had been felled in front to give the cannon play, but behind and on each
side belts of dense, dwarf timber covered the boggy soil. To the left of
Petit, on the old field of Seven Pines, lay the divisions of Hooker and
Kearney, and thither I journeyed, after leaving the redoubtable
volunteer. Hooker was a New Englander, reputed to be the handsomest man
in the army. He fought bravely in the Mexican war, and afterwards
retired to San Francisco, where he passed a Bohemian existence at the
Union Club House. He disliked McClellan, was beloved by his men, and was
generally known as "Old Joe." He has been one of the most successful
Federal leaders, and seems to hold a charmed life. In all probability he
will become Commander-in-chief of one of the grand armies.

Kearney has passed away since the date of which I speak. He was known as
the "one-armed Devil," and was, by odds, the best educated of all the
Federal military chiefs. But, singularly enough, he departed from all
tactics, when hotly afield. His personal energy and courage have given
him renown, and he loved to lead forlorn hopes, or head
storming-parties, or ride upon desperate adventures. He was rich from
childhood, and spent much of his life in Europe. For a part of this time
he served as a cavalry-man with the French, in Algiers. In private life
he was equally reckless, but his tastes were scholarly, and he was
generous to a fault. Both Kearney and Hooker were kind to the reporters,
and I owe the dead man many a favor. General Daniel Sickles commanded a
brigade in this corps. To the left, and in the rear of Heintzelman's
corps, lay the divisions of Casey and Couch, that had relapsed into
silence since their disgrace at Seven Pines. General Casey was a
thin-haired old gentleman, too gracious to be a soldier, although I
believe that he is still in the service. His division comprised the
extreme left of the Grand Army, and bordered upon a deep, impenetrable
bog called "White Oak Swamp." It was the purpose of McClellan to place
this swamp between him and the enemy, and defend its passage till his
baggage and siege artillery had obtained the shelter of the gunboats, on
the shores of the James. I rode along this whole line, to renew my
impressions of the position, and found that sharp skirmishing was going
on at every point. When I returned