A MEETING AND A RETREAT
The forces under General Beauregard at the battle of Bull Run consisted
of some twenty regiments of infantry and a number of cavalry companies
and sections of light artillery. It was a regiment of South Carolina
men that had defended the earthworks attacked by the Goreville
Volunteers and others, and they fought bravely for many hours after
the scene recorded in the last chapter. The battery was one from
North Carolina and retreated from its first position only to take a
second half-way up the side of a hill, at the top of which stood a
single house. It was around the vicinity of this house that the main
onslaughts of the day occurred.
In the meantime, however, what of the cavalry to which Andy was
attached? The Montgomery Grays were located along the Warrenton
turnpike, and it was their honor to capture one of the first cannons
taken from the Union army. The capture took place at a bend in the
road, and was followed by a fierce attack by the boys in blue, which
nearly demoralized the Montgomery Grays.
“Forward! Forward!” cried Captain Montgomery again and again, but when
Andy and the others attempted to move on they found they were literally
urging their steeds upon a bed of bayonets. They fired their pistols
and slashed with their sabers, and the din and shock were terrific.
“Down you come, grayback!” Andy heard yelled in his ear, and a bayonet
was thrust up against his side. He pulled back, escaping the steel
point by only a few inches and cut his assailant heavily on the arm.
The next moment other cavalrymen pushed on behind, and then there
was nothing to do but to go on, cutting a path right and left as the
Montgomery Grays advanced.
Yet when the Confederate cavalry had thus hewn a path for itself along
the turnpike for a distance of several hundred feet, it found the
advantage of position a doubtful one. From the woods poured a regiment
of New York militia, and the fire was so hot from these well-trained
soldiers that the cavalry was forced to move rapidly towards another
defense of the Confederates, dragging the captured cannon with them.
As they were ploughing on, in the dust and dirt, a volley of Minie
balls whistled around them and one clipped Andy on the leg, leaving a
stinging pain behind it.
“Are you struck, Andy?” cried Leroy Wellington, who rode near to his
friend.
“Yes, in the leg; but I reckon it’s not much,” was Andy’s reply, as he
brushed the perspiration and dirt from his face with his coat sleeve.
“Phew! but this is more than warm work!”
“Never mind; we have one of their cannons!” returned Leroy. It filled
his heart with martial joy to think that he had been one of the first
to lay hands on the piece after cutting down the gunner.
“Don’t crow until we are out of the woods, Leroy. Here come more of the
Yankee boys.”
“Pennsylvania men!” cried somebody in advance. “Load, boys, and be
quick about it!”
“Pennsylvania men!” repeated Andy. “What if it should be Louis’s
company? I couldn’t fire on him!” he thought. Then he began to load
with all possible speed.
The Pennyslvania company, however, belonged to the regular militia.
They were an excellently drilled body of men, and came forward in a
solid mass that nothing could stay. They had heard about the capture of
the cannon and were determined, if possible, to regain the piece. They
fired at close range, then began to use their bayonets, and soon the
cannon was reached, and here cutting, thrusting, and clubbing became
the order of the day.
Never had Andy thought to be in such a stubborn conflict. He cut,
thrust, and charged on all sides of him. Once the butt of a musket hit
him in the back and unseated him. There was a yell of triumph as he
went down. Before the yell came to an end he was up again and charged
straight for his adversary, a tall militiaman, who dodged out of the
way in double-quick order. Andy wanted to fire at him, but before he
could bring his pistol into play the tide of battle had swept man and
boy fifty feet apart.
And so the fray went on, until, Confederate reinforcements coming on,
the Union soldiers were forced to retreat, and the Montgomery Grays
returned in triumph to their own division, dragging the cannon after
them. As they moved on General Longstreet swept by them on his charger.
“Good, boys; good!” he cried, waving his sword. “Keep it up and the day
is ours!”
“Carry the news to Jefferson Davis!” yelled Leroy, after him, and the
Confederate general turned in his saddle and smiled. An instant later
the smoke of battle swallowed him up.
But now even the horses were beginning to show signs of fatigue, and
the greater part of the company were compelled to fall back several
hundred feet farther, where there was a small stream flowing into Bull
Run. Here men and beasts procured much-needed drink and stopped to get
their “second wind.”
Hardly was Andy again in the saddle when the bugle called him and his
fellow-cavalrymen to a new position along the side of the hill before
mentioned. To gain this new position the Montgomery Grays had to cross
an open space probably three hundred feet in diameter--a clearing well
covered by the batteries of the Union army.
“Forward, and lose no time!” cried Captain Montgomery, and led the
way, followed almost immediately by a score of his men, with Andy and
Leroy in the number. The captain had scarcely covered a quarter of the
distance when, suddenly, his horse, a powerful gray stallion, was seen
to rear up viciously and take the bit between his teeth.
“Whoa!” roared the Confederate commander, but instead of obeying the
stallion reared again, then dropped like a flash and shot off on a mad
gallop, directly for the Union lines!
“The captain’s horse is running away!” cried Leroy. “Whoa! Whoa!”
“He’ll be carried into the enemy’s lines!” yelled another of the men.
“Turn him to yer right, cap’n! To the right!”
“Whoa, Harry!” cried the captain, tugging in vain at the reins. Harry
would not whoa, but with blazing eyes kept straight on, until the ranks
of the enemy could be plainly seen.
But now came rapid hoof-strokes from behind. From the start Andy had
realized his captain’s danger and wondered how it could be averted. He
knew that trying to stop Harry by pulling on the reins or calling to
him was out of the question. The horse had lost his head and would not
obey until exhausted.
“Forward, Firefly!” he called to his own animal, and, trained to obey
on the moment, brave Firefly flew out of the line and in full pursuit
of the runaway.
“Come back! It’s certain death!” yelled Leroy, in horror; but if Andy
heard he paid no attention. On and on he went, until the very side of
the runaway was gained. The advance line of the enemy was now less than
a hundred feet away. Several rifles rang out and the bullets whistled
on every side.
As Andy ranged up alongside he crowded Harry on the left. The stallion
did not like this and turned to bite Firefly. But Andy was ready for
him and struck the runaway on the nose. At once Harry sheered off
as desired, and away went both horses at right angles to the course
previously pursued. Again the rifles from the Union side rang out and
Captain Montgomery was slightly wounded in the arm, and Andy had his
plumed hat ventilated much against his desires.
“I owe you one for that, Arlington,” said the captain, when both were
safe for the time being. “I’ll not forget you.”
“I think you had better get a more manageable horse after this,
captain,” returned the youth, with a smile. “He’s too willing to go
over to the enemy.”
“I’ll give him another trial. If he runs away again I’ll shoot him,”
replied Captain Montgomery, and having once more gotten his stallion
under control, he galloped off to obtain further orders from the
general in charge.
“We are ordered to the breastworks below here,” said the officer, a
few minutes later. “A South Carolina regiment has been holding the
defense, but matters are getting too hot for them. Forward, boys, and
show them what our Grays can do. Hurrah for the Stars and Bars!” and
away went the troop of cavalry, flinging up the sod of the cut up field
behind them. In two minutes more they were again in the thick of the
fray.
“The cavalry is coming!” Andy heard one of the Union soldiers
ejaculate. “Never mind, Blackwell. Show ’em what sort of stuff the
Goreville Volunteers are made of,” added another. “Now we have this
ground, let us hold it. Hurrah for McDowell and General Scott!”
“The Goreville Volunteers,” thought Andy, and the hot blood rushed to
his face. It was Louis’s company! Supposing he should--
“Andy!” It was a yell from his left. He turned swiftly. Sure enough,
there was Louis, battling bravely in the midst of half a dozen of the
South Carolina men, one of whom was about to stick his bayonet into the
Union boy’s breast. “Don’t kill him! Don’t, please!” were the words
which rose to his lips, but in the din of battle no one heard him. Then
he saw Louis catch hold of the bayonet and thrust it aside. In another
moment the two chums found themselves face to face.
“Louis! To think we should meet like this!” came from Andy’s white
lips. “You must go back! You will be killed, or captured!”
“I am fighting as I was told to fight, Andy,” was the determined reply.
“Good-bye, and take care of yourself!” and away sped Louis, knocking
headlong a Confederate soldier who sought to detain him. Andy had now
all he could do to look out for his own welfare; and thus the former
chums parted, not to meet again until the Army of the Potomac marched
against Richmond, the Confederate capital.
We will follow for the time being the fortunes of Andy. With Louis’s
disappearance the Southern youth discovered that a fresh body of Union
soldiers had come up to reinforce the Goreville Volunteers, who were
now all but exhausted to a man. He was pleased to note this, as the
idea of fighting even against the company to which his chum belonged
was distasteful to him.
The Grays were ordered to charge the men who were holding the defense,
and away they dashed, with two other cavalry companies beside them.
This charge was bravely met, and once again Andy found himself in a
hand-to-hand fight. This did not last more than five minutes, when
the Union soldiers were seen to part, to let through a battery of two
cannons, both twelve-pounders. As quickly as possible the battery
was placed in position, the rear guard of the Union men meanwhile
protecting the pieces. Then away went the Northern troops to the right
and left, and the order was given for the Grays to retreat. The order
came none too soon, for when the cannons blazed forth the aims of the
gunners were found so correct that eight horsemen and six animals were
laid low. The Union battery remained where it was for over an hour,
when the general retreat of the Union troops began.
The line of battle had originally been nearly eight miles long, but
now it was so broken and disorganized that the fighting became general
upon all sides, although the heaviest attacks were still made in the
vicinity of the hill before mentioned. The exhaustion in the hot sun
was terrible, and many of the soldiers had not had time to eat a
mouthful since early morning. Some of the poor fellows, unable to carry
the load, had thrown away their knapsacks, and they now ran around
begging for a mouthful of something with which to brace themselves up.
It was their first awakening to the stern reality of grim war.
“If ever I git back to old New York ag’in,” wailed a Bowery boy, who
had enlisted for three months with the idea that going down South to
whip the “rebs” would be “nothin’ but sport, boys, nothin’ but sport.”
He wanted to see no more of the war,--and he had his counterpart
everywhere, on both sides. One dandy from Richmond who had enlisted
also for “sport” was heard to exclaim that henceforth “the big guns can
fight for themselves. I’ll be jiggered if I’ll do it for them,” meaning
that, as far as he was concerned, the politicians and others who had
precipitated the conflict could end it among themselves.
But there were others, and they numbered thousands upon both sides,
who fought bravely to the very last, realizing that the eyes of the
whole world were upon them in this initial conflict. They were fighting
to uphold a principle, not fighting against a Northern or a Southern
brother. To these the horrors of carnage were as appalling as they
could well be, but they had steeled their hearts for the inevitable,
and they went on, to live or die in the defense of what they thought
right. These, and these only, are the true heroes of the great war, and
there is no dividing line, and there never could be, to separate them.
The booming of cannons and the shrieking of shells still went on as
the Goreville Volunteers gathered together in a little clump of trees
and snatched a hasty biscuit and a drink of water. Each man and boy
was begrimed with sweat, dirt, and powder, and each was more than
half-exhausted from his exertions.
“Oh, but ain’t this simply dreadful!” moaned Jerry Rowe, for at least
the fiftieth time. “Captain Paulding never told me of it when he got me
to enlist.”
“The captain wanted to make a man of you, Jerry,” replied Nathan
Hornsby. “What are you kicking about? See, I’m clipped with a bullet
wound in my left fore-arm, but I’m not complaining.”
“The cap’n will make a man of Jerry if his knees hold out,” put in
another of the men. “But, Jerry, don’t shake so bad or your knees will
cut through your trousers,” and a short laugh went up, even in that
perilous position--a laugh which was cut short by the passage of a
cannon ball through the trees. Everybody ducked, and Jerry fell flat,
although the ball was ten feet up in the air.
General McDowell, now seeing the tide of battle turning against his
troops, sought by every means in his power to recuperate his forces.
But when several attacks had been led forward without avail, it was
determined to fall back, in the hope of taking a fresh stand in the
vicinity of Centerville. In the meantime, however, the troops of
General Johnson, which had escaped from the Union General Patterson
at Charlestown, in West Virginia, miles away, had come in on railroad
trains to Manassas Junction, and these fresh Confederate soldiers,
appearing suddenly on the field, started a panic among the Northern
companies, a panic which it was impossible, in the mixed-up condition
of affairs, to stay.
“General Johnson has come on with twenty thousand fresh troops! We
must fly for it!” was the cry which was taken up from company to
company. Johnson had come up with no such magnificent number of men,
but he had come up with enough to make a good showing, and, utterly
worn out from marching and fighting in the hot sun, the Union troops
commenced the retreat in the direction of Washington.
The blow to all was a bitter one, but now was no time to think
about it. “We can weep afterwards,” said one of the older men of
the Goreville Volunteers. “Now it is use your legs or go to a rebel
prison,” and off he stalked, with Captain Paulding, Louis, Harry
Bingham, Moses Blackwell, and a dozen others beside him. The captain
tried to preserve order, but this was impossible, for men on foot and
men on horseback were rushing hither and thither, trying to find their
commands or, at least, a friend or two.
Less than half a mile had been covered, when a firing upon the road
caused the volunteers to halt. Then came a rush, and a band of the
Confederate cavalry swept by. As they did so the volunteers stepped
into the shelter of the woods beside the turnpike. They were about to
emerge when Louis felt himself jerked violently to the ground. He had
been pulled down by a fellow concealed in the long grass. As he tumbled
headlong he caught sight of the man’s face. It was Sam Jacks!