oon slowly rose from the Federal lines and hung in the scarlet
clouds that circled the sun. The signal was given to the artillery that
the enemy lay in the deep woods within range and a storm of shot and
shell suddenly burst over the heads of the men in grey and the second
day's carnage had begun.

For once Jackson, the swift and mysterious, was late in reaching the
scene. It was two o'clock when Hill again unsupported hurled his men on
the Federal lines in a fierce determined charge. Twenty-six guns of the
matchless artillery of McClellan's army threw a stream of shot and shell
into his face. Never were guns handled with deadlier power. And back of
them the infantry, thrilled at the magnificent spectacle, poured their
hail of hissing lead into the approaching staggering lines.

The waves of grey broke and recoiled. A blue pall of impenetrable smoke
rolled through the trees and clung to the earth. Under the protection of
their great guns the dense lines of blue pushed out into the smoke fog
and charged their foe. For two hours the combat raged at close quarters.
A division of fresh troops rushed to the Northern line, and Lee
observing the movement from his horse on an eminence, ordered a general
attack on the entire Union front.

It was a life and death grapple for the mastery. Jackson's corps was now
in action. A desperate charge of Hood's division at last broke the Union
lines and the grey men swarmed over the Federal breastworks. The lines
broke and began to roll back toward the bridges of the Chickahominy. The
retreat threatened to become a rout. The twilight was deepening over the
field when a shout rose from the tangled masses of blue stragglers by
the bridge. Dashing through them came the swift fresh brigades of French
and Meager. General Meager, rising from his stirrups in his shirt
sleeves, swung his bare sword above his head, hurled his troops against
the advancing Confederate line and held it until darkness saved Porter's
division from ruin.

McClellan's one hope now was to pull his army out of the deadly swamps
in which he had been caught and save it from destruction. He must reach
the banks of the James and the shelter of his gunboats before he could
stop to breathe. At every step the charging grey lines crashed on his
rear guard. Retreating day and night, turning and fighting as a hunted
stag, he was struggling only to escape.

That there was no panic, no rout, was a splendid tribute to his
organizing