Everyday almost there were
skirmishes between the two armies, but still Grant pressed onward
and arrived at length within a few miles of Richmond. Here at Cold
Harbor Lee took up a strongly entrenched position from which it
seemed impossible to oust him, except by a grand assault. Grant
determined to make that assault.
Both officers and men knew that it could not succeed, but Grant
commanded it and they obeyed. Yet so sure were many of the men that
they were going to certain death that it is said they wrote their
names and addresses on slips of paper which they tacked to the backs
of their coats, so that when their bodies were found it might be
easily known who they were, and news be sent to their friends.
At half-past four in the grey morning light eighty thousand men
rushed upon the foe. They were met with a blinding fire and swept
away. In half an hour the attack was over. It was the deadliest
half hour in all American history, and eight thousand Union men
lay dead upon the field.
"Some one had blundered." Grant had blundered. He knew it, and all
his life after regretted it. "No advantage whatever was gained,"
he said, "to make up for the heavy loss we suffered."
In this terrible campaign he had lost sixty thousand men. He had
not taken Richmond. He had neither destroyed nor dispersed Lee's
army. Still he hammered on, hoping in the long run to wear out Lee.
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