sight of the spires of Richmond. Faint, but clear, the breezes
brought the far-off sound of her church bells on Sunday morning.

The two great armies at last faced each other for the first clash of
giants, McClellan with one hundred and ten thousand men in line,
Johnston with seventy thousand Southerners.

John Vaughan rode along the lines of the Federal host on the afternoon
of May 30th, to inspect and report to his Commander. Through the opening
in the trees the Confederate army could be plainly seen on the other
side of the clearing. The Federal scouts had already reported the
certainty of an attack.

The Confederates that night lay down on their arms with orders to attack
at daylight. Dark clouds had swirled their storm banks over the sky
before sunset and the heavens were opened. The rain fell in blinding
torrents, until the sluggish little stream of the Chickahominy had
become a rushing, widening, treacherous river which threatened to sweep
away the last bridge McClellan had constructed.

The Confederate Commander was elated. The army of his enemy was divided
by a swollen river. The storm increased until it reached the violence of
a hurricane. Through the entire night the lightning flashed and the
thunder pealed without ceasing. At times the heavens were livid with
blinding, dazzling light. Tents were a mockery. The earth was
transformed into a vast morass.

The storm had its compensations for the Northern army though divided.
Its frightful severity had so demoralized the Confederates that it was
nearly noon before General A. P. Hill moved to the attack.

The entrenched army was ready. The Union pickets lay in the edge of the
woods and every soldier in the pits had been under cover for hours
awaiting the onset.

With a shout the men in grey leaped from their shelter, pouring their
volleys from close charging columns. The rifle balls whistled through
the woods, clipping boughs, barking the trees, and hurling the Federal
pickets back on their support. In front of the abatis had been planted a
battery of four guns. The grey men had fixed their eyes on them. General
Naglee saw their purpose and threw his four thousand men into the open
field to meet them. Straight into each other's faces their muskets
flamed, paused, and flamed again. The Northern men fixed their bayonets,
charged, and drove the grey line slowly back into the woods. Here they
met a storm of hissing lead that mowed their ranks. They broke quickl