Little Mac, with his hundred and twenty thousand men, had moved up the
Peninsula with deliberate but resistless force, Johnston's army retiring
before him without serious battle until the Army of the Potomac lay
within 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.
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