etween me and
the sky. A brownish bay pony, trailing a fence-rail by his halter, and
browsing upon patches of oats. I whistled thrice and the faithful animal
trotted to my feet, and extended his great nose to be rubbed. I believe
that this horse was the only living thing in the army that sympathized
with me. He knew that I was sick, and I thought once, that, like the
great dogs of Saint Bernard, he was about to get upon his knees, that I
might the more readily climb upon his back. He did, however, stand
quietly, while I mounted, and I gave him a drink at the foot of the
hill. Returning, I saw the soldier, wrongfully accused, eyeing me from
his haunt beneath the trees. I at once rode over to him, and apologized
for my mistake.

"Never mind," said the man, complacently. "You was all right. I might a
done the same thing. Fact is," he added, "I did hook this hoss, but I
knew you wan't the party."

During the rest of the day I travelled disconsolately, up and down the
road, winding in and out of the lines of teams.

I was assured that it would be impossible to get to the James till next
day, as no portion of that army had yet advanced so far. The moody
minutes of that afternoon made the longest part of my life, while the
cannon at Peach Orchard and Savage's, roared and growled incessantly.
Toward the close of the day I fell in with Captain Hill, of the New York
Saratoga regiment, who gave me the outline of the fight.

The Confederates had discovered that we were falling back, by means of a
balloon, of home manufacture,--the first they had been able to employ
during the entire war. They appeared at our entrenchments on Sunday
morning, and finding them deserted, commenced an irregular pursuit,
whereby, they received terrible volleys of musketry from ambuscaded
regiments, and retired, in disorder, to the ramparts. This was the
battle of "Peach Orchard," and was disastrous to the Southerners. In the
afternoon, they again essayed to advance, but more cautiously. The
Federals, meantime, lay in order of battle upon Savage's, Dudley's, and
Crouch's farms, their right resting on the Chickahominy, their centre on
the railroad, and their left beyond the Williamsburg turnpike. For a
time, an artillery contest ensued, and the hospitals at Savage's, where
the wounded lay, were thrice fired upon. The Confederates finally
penetrated the dense woods that belted this country, and the battle, at
nightfall, became fervid and sanguinary. The