LOUIS’S PERILOUS ESCAPE
To be pulled down in such an unceremonious fashion was a surprise
in itself, but to find himself face to face with his enemy, the
mountaineer, astonished Louis beyond measure. For the instant he could
do nothing but stare at his assailant.
Then came the realization of his position--that Jacks was not only his
personal enemy, but that the man likewise belonged to the Confederate
forces, and as Captain Paulding and the others moved off on the
double-quick he endeavored to pull himself away to go with them.
“No, yer don’t!” hissed rather than exclaimed the mountaineer. “I’ve
got yer an’ I’m goin’ ter hold yer!”
His face, generally far from clean, was now covered with thick dirt,
and over one cheek flowed a small stream of blood, for he had been
wounded, not by a shot from the enemy, but from a tumble in the woods
in which he had been hiding. As he spoke so vindictively he hauled
Louis closely to him.
“Let me go!” panted the young Union soldier, and struggled to free
himself. “Captain Paulding! Harry! Hel--”
The words died upon his lips as Sam Jacks clapped a dirty hand over his
mouth. Then commenced a fierce struggle, and both rolled over and over
in the tall grass, until, coming to the edge of a gully, both dropped a
distance of six or eight feet, to bring up on a pile of damp leaves and
dead tree branches.
Louis came down on top, and with such force that the mountaineer’s wind
was for the moment knocked completely out of him. He uttered a grunt
and a gasp, and ere he could recover Louis was on his feet and making
for a spot where the side of the gully sloped upward.
“Stop him, Hogwell!” roared Jacks, and as he spoke another form loomed
up before the young soldier. The man was the same who had assisted at
making him a prisoner at the old mill, before the opening of the war.
Hogwell had been in hiding with Sam Jacks for several hours, their
intention being to see what they could steal after the battle should
come to an end. Unfortunately, throughout the war both sides were
afflicted with such terrible criminals, who had no respect for either
dead or dying, their sole object being plunder.
“Who is it?” queried Hogwell, as he blocked Louis’s passage.
“Can’t yer see--it’s the rat we had the trouble with up near Deems,”
growled Jacks. “Stop him. I allers calkerlated ter git squar with him.”
Hogwell grabbed Louis by the collar. Had the young soldier had his gun
with him he would have either fired or used the bayonet. But the weapon
had been lost at the first moment of Sam Jacks’s attack and now he had
only his hands.
“Let go!” he commanded, and hauling back, he hit Hogwell squarely
in the lower jaw. It was a heavy blow, delivered with all of Louis’s
youthful strength and determination, and Hogwell went back as though
struck with a club. Ere he could recover the young Union soldier was
past him and speeding up the gully side with the speed of lightning.
“Stop, or I’ll fire!” he heard Hogwell yell, a moment later. But he
kept on. Then came the report of the mountaineer’s long pistol and a
bullet whizzed close to his head. Soon the shelter of the trees took
him out of range.
The tussle in the gully had somewhat upset Louis’s mind, and when
he started in search of the turnpike again he turned in exactly the
opposite direction to that which he should have taken. On and on he
went, through the brush and over trunks of decaying trees. More than
once he stumbled, but picked himself up hastily and continued on
his way, until suddenly he found himself ascending a hill where the
thickness of the trees made further progress almost impossible.
“I’ve made a mistake,” he thought, much dismayed. “There is no road in
this direction.”
Forced to halt, he listened intently. From several points around him
came the distant sounds of musketry and occasionally the booming of a
cannon. But to locate any of the sounds in particular was impossible.
Indeed, the firing of the day had half deafened him.
“I’m in a pickle, with all the others gone,” he thought, dismally.
“Even if I do find the road I’ll not know where to look for our
company. However, I won’t be any worse off than lots more of our poor
fellows. If only I can get among friends somebody in command will set
me right. Perhaps this defeat will only be temporary.”
It was deliciously cool in the depths of the woods and this refreshed
him. Having regained his breath, he retraced his steps as well as he
was able. Ten minutes later he recrossed the gully, but at a point some
distance above where the encounter with Jacks had occurred. He had gone
on but a few feet farther when he almost stumbled over the body of a
dead Union soldier. A little startled, he was about to go on, when a
sudden thought seized him and he retraced his steps.
The poor fellow had belonged to a volunteer command. He was past
middle age and cold, showing that he had been dead several hours.
Beside him lay his gun and cap, and his cartridge box was still
strapped around his waist.
“He’ll never want his gun again, poor fellow,” thought Louis, and
kneeling down he unfastened the flap of the cartridge box and took out
the supplies. This done, he picked up the gun and hurried on as before.
Having a weapon made him feel much more like himself.
A short while later the road was gained. Here a scene of indescribable
confusion met his gaze. Union troops of all kinds were rushing along,
many of the men capless and gunless, having thrown all away in their
anxiety to escape. On the ground lay the guns, with here and there a
knapsack, and over all tramped men and horses. Cannon after cannon
followed, the drivers of the horses beating their animals mercilessly
in their endeavor to escape capture by the pursuing enemy; and mixed-up
with these were the provision turnouts and occasionally the carriage
of some politician or member of Congress, whose curiosity had brought
him hither from Washington to see how this fight with the Confederates
would end. It was a most humiliating spectacle; yet such was needed at
that time to awaken the North to the true condition of affairs.
Presently a Pennsylvania company swept by, not over twenty-five strong.
Louis ran to join them.
“Where from?” he asked of one of the soldiers, a young fellow scarcely
older than himself.
“Harrisburg,” was the puffing reply. “Lost your company?”
“Yes--the Goreville Volunteers. Have you seen anything of them?”
“No; haven’t seen anything but a lot of rebs at our heels. Better come
along if you want to save your skin. They’ve got a large reinforcement
after us.”
On went the Harrisburg soldier, and Louis concluded he could do nothing
better than keep at his side. Several miles were covered, and the few
houses which composed Centerville were passed, when the road became
blocked up in front. Presently half a dozen generals and their aides
came dashing from one side and another.
“Face about, boys! We can whip them yet! Face about and form the line!
Face about!”
The cry, well meant, was utterly useless. The soldiers were exhausted,
having been on their feet since two o’clock that morning, and it was
now after sundown. All but a few scattered regiments were thrown in
hopeless confusion. Colonels could not find their companies, captains
and lieutenants looked in vain for their men. Nine out of ten had still
to learn what war and military organization really meant.
“This is Andy’s day and no mistake,” Louis half-murmured to himself. He
could imagine Andy, in his lusty, Southern way, throwing up his plumed
cavalry hat and shouting for the Confederacy. Well, there was one
consolation--the war was not yet over.
Finding the men could not be organized for a stand at Centerville
Ridge, General McDowell allowed them to continue toward Washington
and at the same time sent Blenker’s brigade to cover the retreat. The
troops which reached Fairfax Court House immediately took cars for
Washington, and they carried with them as much of the arms and stores
as was possible.
But it was only a small portion that got away thus easily. The vast
majority of the Union soldiers, worn-out, heart-sick, and hungry
enough to eat almost anything, had to tramp the remaining distance to
the Capitol. They took various roads, and most of them did not come
in until the next day, when it began to rain in torrents, causing the
dusty roads to turn into rivers of mud. With the rain came a heavy
fog from the bay, as if to add to the already accumulated misery, and
in this fog and downpour those who had gone forth so full of hope,
dragged back, to find a shelter wherever they could lay their heads,
devour what was given them, and drop asleep before swallowing the last
mouthful. Such is an actual picture of those days of awful gloom,
when the fate of the nation hung in the balance. Had the Confederates
followed up the victory gained at Bull Run, or rather, had their troops
been in a condition to do so, it is more than likely Washington would
have fallen. But the majority of the Southern soldiers were no better
off than their Northern antagonists, and so, with the heavy rain coming
on, nothing further was done.
It was not until twenty-four hours later that Louis found himself
again in Washington. He had tramped in a roundabout way from
Centerville, became lost, along with several thousands of other
soldiers, and in all that time had had nothing to eat but three or four
hardtacks he had picked up on the road beside a half-smashed haversack.
He and the young soldier from Harrisburg, named Clarence Woolley, had
kept together, and now they approached the grounds around the Capitol
side by side, both limping painfully, for their feet were more than
sore.
The generous ladies of Washington had arisen to the emergency. Tented
booths had been erected, and hot coffee and sandwiches could be had for
the asking. Louis was standing up against a tent pole, with a cup in
one hand and a corned-beef sandwich in the other, when he was tapped on
the shoulder, and turning saw Harry Bingham.
“Harry!” he exclaimed, joyfully. “Well, I’m glad to see somebody of our
company. Where are the rest?”
“Captain Paulding and a dozen others are over in a corner of the White
House grounds. I don’t know where the rest are. I was much worried
about you. Are you O. K.?”
“Yes, excepting that I am dead for sleep. Here’s a fellow who lost his
command, too,” and Louis introduced Woolley. The meal finished, the
three walked over to the spot Harry Bingham had mentioned. Pennsylvania
troops were gathering there, and soon Woolley found several men he knew
and went off with them.
The meeting between the Goreville volunteers was rather a silent one.
Captain Paulding and the other officers did what they could to cheer
the men up, but all were too tired to listen; and quarters having been
secured in a warehouse on a back street, the little band marched there
and “turned in,” to sleep the sleep of the over-weary for many hours
to come. Of the company, three had been killed outright, four were
slightly wounded and two were still missing. The missing ones turned up
the next day.
Such, in brief, were the experiences of the young soldiers at the
memorable battle of Bull Run, called by Confederate historians the
battles of Bull Run and Manassas. To Louis it was decidedly depressing,
to Andy it was full of hope for the future. Many of those in the South
imagined that the end of the conflict was now close at hand and that it
would not be long before the North would call a truce and recognize the
new Confederacy. But these people were sadly mistaken; the North had
not yet been fairly aroused, and the Civil War, instead of being nearly
ended, had but begun.