While most of the Union army went up the York river by boat, the 1st Regiment made the journey on land. Altho the country was naturally fertile and the climate of the best, a general seediness and “run down” condition prevailed, so that it was like a desert to the weary, hungry marchers. Finally the Williamsburg road brought the troops to Seven Pines--the spot from whose tree-tops could be seen the spires of Richmond, six miles away. Doubtless everyone has passed thru some experience so terrible that it comes back in his moments of nightmare. Seven Pines and Savage’s Station fill that rôle for veterans of the old 1st. Today a portion of the battle-field is a National cemetery, a veritable God’s acre, sacred to the memory of the dead, melodious with the voice of cat-bird and mocking-bird and the graceful killdeer. There the magnolia grows to perfection and the luscious fig matures in the summer sunshine. But this district, usually so dry and substantial, is at the edge of the Chickahominy or White Oak Swamp. From May 31 to June 25, 1862, unusually severe rains swelled the Chickahominy and inundated the surrounding country. Fortunately there are islands in the swamp, places of partial refuge, to which our men resorted. McClellan’s plan called for a junction with the army of Irvin McDowell about June 1, and for a grand assault by the combined forces upon the Confederate Johnston. For reasons which seemed adequate to the authorities in Washington, notwithstanding the serious results for McClellan and his army, McDowell was forbidden to march south and keep his appointment. While McClellan waited, and while the floods refused to abate, the Army of the Potomac was in a bad way. R. E. Lee, Johnston’s successor, attacked nearly every day. Mosquitoes bit, and the result thereof was malaria. Finally the ground was dug over and fought over so constantly that there was time neither to care for the wounded nor bury the dead; and a condition of horror ensued which surpasses all power of description. Men actually had to sleep side by side with their dead comrades,--comrades who had been dead for days. It is very easy to understand why the Peninsular campaign developed into a retreat; a month of such fighting was all that flesh and blood could endure. Not even the issue of a whiskey ration, which commenced at this time, could sufficiently blunt the soldiers’ senses--altho it did accomplish vast moral damage. So when McClellan became convinced that he would not have McDowell’s co-operation, he turned back; he could do nothing else.