The Regulars and the Pennsylvania Reserves are worn out. Their ammunition is nearly gone. Porter orders up his last man. They can have no more support. At this moment, after they have held at bay for four hours the great host, they are called upon to withstand the last grand charge of Jackson. Whiting advances, he is received with grape and canister. His line halts, wavers, almost breaks; but Jackson, Whiting, Hood, and Law urge the men to push on. They leap across the ravine, halt a moment, sheltered by the bank above them from the fire of the Union batteries, and then leap the breastwork and seize the guns. There is a short struggle, a falling back, a retreat, and the battle of Gaines's Mills is lost to General McClellan. Meagher and French have reached the field, but they are too late to save the day. Twenty guns have fallen into Lee's hands, and several hundred prisoners. The cavalry in the rear draw their sabers, dash upon the exultant foe, but it is an ineffectual charge. The retreating troops fall in behind French and Meagher, form a new line nearer the Chickahominy, as the darkness comes on. They have been driven from their first position, but Lee has not power enough to drive them into the Chickahominy. He decides to wait till morning before renewing the attack. The morning dawns, and Porter is beyond his reach across the river, with all his siege guns, ammunition, and supplies. How near Lee came to losing the battle may be seen by the following extract from the narration of a Rebel correspondent of the Richmond Whig:-- "It was absolutely necessary that we should carry their line, and, to do this, regiment after regiment, and brigade after brigade was successively led forward; still our repeated charges, gallant and dashing though they were, failed to accomplish the end, and our troops, still fighting, fell steadily back. Thus for more than two mortal hours the momentous issue stood trembling in the balance. The sun was getting far in the west, darkness would soon be upon us, and the point must be carried. At this juncture--it was now five o'clock--the division of the gallant Whiting hove in sight. On reaching the field their troops rapidly deployed in line.... The charge was made under the most galling fire I ever witnessed; shot, shell, grape, canister, and ball swept through our lines like a storm of leaden hail, and our noble boys fell thick and fast; and yet still, with the irresistible determination of men who fight for all that men hold dear, our gallant boys rushed on.