In more than a dozen regiments of raw soldiery camping in the fields
about Centreville that hot July evening were lads no older than George
Lawton. Among the seasoned regulars, few as they were, serving either as
fifers or drummers in the infantry and marines, buglers in the batteries
or trumpeters in the cavalry, were some who were even younger,--boys
born in the army far out on the frontier, perhaps, or at the few
garrisoned forts on the Atlantic coast,--sons of soldiers who knew no
other life and who would have felt awkward in any dress but the uniform.
But there were few who did not at first feel, as Snipe felt, a nervous
tremor about the knees at sound of those swift banging guns. Veteran
soldiers soon learn that cannon may boom all day and little damage be
done, and that the real sound that tells of deadly battle is the
sustained crackle and crash of musketry. All through the excited army
the news had gone that there had been a "meeting" Thursday down at
Blackburn's Ford to the left front, "a reconnoissance in force," a
staff-officer described it to silent, serious Major Stark, "merely to
develop the enemy." But that reconnoissance had developed something
else,--the fact that some of the raw regiments, bursting with eagerness
to march to Richmond ten days earlier, couldn't stand fire to-day, for
the moment the screaming shells from the Confederate guns on the
southern bank of Bull Run came crashing through the timber on the north
side, a new volunteer command, shoved in there to support a battery,
scurried out of it in most undignified haste. Others, no older in
service, but better led, stood their ground like men, despite their
pale, anxious faces, and roundly jeered the "salt-workers." One thing
was settled to the satisfaction of General McDowell, commanding the
Union force, and that was that the routes to Manassas Junction, either
by way of the Stone Bridge straight ahead on the broad pike, or more
directly by the several fords farther down-stream, were vigilantly
guarded, so that "the longest way round" would probably be the shortest
way to that centre of rebel activity. There at Manassas the railways
from the South and from the Shenandoah joined. There were the stores and
supplies. There was the strategic point, and scattered along the wooded
bluffs that hemmed the stream on the southern side, all along for nearly
eight miles were stationed the Southern brigades. With Manassas at their
backs five miles away, with Bull Run directly in their front, with only
one broad road and four or five bridle-paths or wagon-tracks leading
down to it, the Southern general felt well assured in his position and
equally confident of his men.
On the other hand, the Union leader was schooled in strategy and grand
tactics and quick to see his opportunities. Bull Run was as "crooked as
a ram's horn," said the staff-officers sent forward to reconnoitre, but
its general course below the Stone Bridge was southeastward, despite its
deep bends and twists, while above the bridge, within four miles or so,
from the neighborhood of Sudley Springs, it had three sharp elbows, and
flowed alternately east and south. Below the bridge the woods were thick
on both banks; above it, toward Sudley Church, were many open fields and
patches. All Friday and Saturday the Union troops were closing up on
Centreville, bringing with them, worse luck, a gang of curious
spectators in carriages and buggies,--people coming out the twenty-five
miles from Washington as though to a picnic,--and all this motley crowd
was scattered through the fields and orchards and shady groves and
swarming through the farm enclosures about the once placid, sleepy
little Virginia village this still Saturday afternoon that preceded the
momentous Sunday of the first real battle of the civil war.
It was seven o'clock by the major's watch as the rear of his silent
column swung clear of the bivouac where comrade soldiers stood and
longed to cheer them off, but for the caution of their officers passed
company by company down the line of stacked rifles. There had been a
brief conference between the gray-haired, shrill-voiced colonel and his
junior field-officer. The latter had received his orders direct from the
commanding general. That accomplished soldier had keenly looked the
major over, and, as the latter remounted and rode silently away, had
turned to his adjutant-general with the comprehensive remark, "He'll
do!" And now, as the twilight deepened and the stars began to twinkle in
the eastern skies, through a winding wood-path the column moved,
snake-like, swiftly, confidently, yet noiselessly, on. There was barely
a farm-wagon track along the springy turf. Each man carried his
knapsack, blanket, and his forty rounds. Light marching order would have
been welcome after the heat and heavy burdens of the past few days.
Route step was the command when clear of the sentry lines, but silence
the caution. Quarter of a mile out, and in a little grove, the leaders
came upon a company of infantry clustered about their stacked rifles.
The wood road forked here, one branch going straight on north, the other
bearing farther to the west. A word from the young lieutenant of
regulars, riding side by side with Major Stark, and the commander of the
picket reserves stood back, and, without a moment's pause, the battalion
swung steadily on, taking the right-hand path. A few hundred yards and
there was momentary check. A subaltern officer and some twenty or
thirty soldiers stood under arms at a bend in the path, and now the
light was so dim that the stars directly overhead were beginning to peep
down at the drowsing world beneath. The two lieutenants, the
professional of the staff, the volunteer of the infantry, held brief
parley, while Major Stark looked back toward his coming battalion,
signalled to the foremost captain marching sturdily by the side of his
first sergeant, and that officer stepped out a yard or two, faced back
toward the long column, and, first waving his sword aloft to attract
attention, took it in both hands, the left near the point, held it
horizontally over his head an instant, and then suddenly lowered it;
whereat, without a sound, all who saw as quickly halted short, softly
placing the shod butts of the rifles on the ground, and all others
almost instantly followed the example. It was part of a silent drill the
New-Englanders had been taught for just such emergencies.
With beating heart Snipe listened to the low-toned colloquy. The
lieutenant of the picket-guard, a trifle excitedly, was dictating some
report just received from the outposts.
"No, I didn't see 'em myself," he replied, in answer to question, "but
Sergeant Holman says he couldn't be mistaken. The outermost sentries,
three of them, all say the same. There were at least twenty-five
horsemen. They forded the Run right down here to the southwest of us,
and rode northward so as to cross this slanting path, if they kept on
in the same direction, just about a mile from here. Holman's with the
outposts now, sir."
The staff-officer turned to Major Stark. "They may have been sent to
destroy the very bridge we are ordered to guard," said he, in low tone.
"It isn't two miles ahead."
"Then the sooner we get there the better," was the prompt answer, and,
glancing over his shoulder, the major signalled again, his right hand
high in air at first, then pointing to the front, but in the gathering
darkness the gesture was not fully understood. "Ride back, Lawton, and
tell Captain Flint to follow with the battalion," and the two mounted
officers rode rapidly ahead, and in a moment were lost to sight among
the shadowy trees.
It was Snipe's first mission as an orderly, and well he remembered it.
Whirling his horse about, he trotted back to where the head of the
column stood silently with ordered arms, the men leaning on their
muskets. "Major Stark says to follow with the battalion, sir," he
promptly announced to the alert captain, using as nearly as possible, as
he had read was the duty of staff-officers and messengers, the exact
words of the commander; and then, seeing the column instantly obeying,
he again turned, rode sharply past the silent picket-post, and,
straining his eyes for a sight of his major, while threading the dim
vista of the wood path, he soon overtook the two again, halted once
more and in earnest converse with a bearded, sturdy-looking sergeant,
who, with a little squad of dark-uniformed infantry, formed the outpost.
"The sentinels are not a hundred yards beyond us," he heard him say.
"All three saw them. The ground slopes gradually to the south and west.
It's quite open. They crossed the Run down yonder, and rode straight
away northward," and the sergeant pointed to a distant ridge. "None of
'em came within range. They didn't seem to think anybody would be out
here at all."
The staff-officer sat listening quietly and attentively until the
sergeant finished. Then he turned to the major. "I chose this ground
myself," he said. "The sentries are hidden by bushes from the front, and
have a clear view for nearly a mile, by day at least, and looking back
you could see the roofs of Centreville on the high ground to the east. I
reconnoitred all through here yesterday and came across that bridge
about three o'clock. There's a deep wide ditch, marshy in places, wet
and miry everywhere for a mile either way, and the banks are steep. Foot
troops and cavalry can cross all right, but we've got to keep that
bridge for the guns, especially that big thirty-pound Parrott General
Hunter's to bring along. I wish we'd been sent out earlier, though of
course we might have been seen crossing the open fields. Look!" and
Lieutenant Upton led a few paces to the edge of the scattered trees, and
there the whole westward firmament was visible, even down to the black
lines of the Bull Run Mountains, just setting its own "sentinel stars"
for the long night-watch.
"I wish so, too," said the major. "Lawton, ride back and guide the
column. It may lose the way."
Again the lad turned and trotted away, but before he had gone a hundred
yards he could see the faint gleam of steel come dancing through the
glade, and almost instantly there followed the stern, sharp, low-voiced
challenge. "It's Lawton," he answered quickly. "The major feared you
might lose the way, and told me to guide you."
The men were panting a little now, for Flint was forcing the pace.
Something told them there was work ahead. "Know what's up, orderly?"
muttered the captain.
"No, sir. The pickets say some rebel cavalry crossed the front just
before dark, somewhere about two dozen of 'em." And as Snipe now rode
along, with over three hundred stalwart fellows trudging at his back,
despite all the excitement of the moment his thoughts went back to the
school-days and the First Latin, and he wondered what the fellows would
think to see him now, guiding a whole battalion to its post of duty,
perhaps to its place in battle. He wondered with clinching teeth and
quickening breath who could have made those fellows he had so sworn by
believe that he, Snipe Lawton, was a common thief. Was that the reason
Shorty never wrote again? Was that why no one now seemed to care where
he was or what had become of him? The boy's wounded heart beat
vehemently in protest and in indignation, and there in the darkness of
that 'cross country wood path his lips murmured a prayer for guidance
and protection, that he might live to give the lie to that
slander,--might so live as to win honor and credit for the name his
enemies had besmirched. Two nights before, following his major through a
dark lane when visiting sentries, the boy's heart had bounded
uncontrollably, and his knees had trembled so hard that his horse, too,
seemed to shake, all because a nervous raw recruit had fancied he saw a
rebel stealing on him through the blackness of the night, and after
vainly challenging a wandering mule, had roused the whole division and
nearly killed his major with a single wildly aimed shot. To-night as
Snipe thought of the story he had wrung from the unwilling lips of
Sergeant Keating, of the Fire Zouaves, one of 40's old "bunkers," the
sense of pride and indignation bore down all thought of fear, and Snipe
Lawton, who the year before hated drill and wouldn't be a soldier for
anything, even now in the dark, where Napoleon himself had said most men
were cowards, was praying that the rebels might be there at the bridge,
and that he might be foremost in the dash upon them.
On past the peering, shadowy knots of soldiers of Sergeant Holman's
party he led them, the hard-breathing, swift-striding Yankees swinging
along behind. Out over the starlit open to where, well across the field,
he could dimly descry the forms of two horsemen. "Well done, orderly,"
muttered the regular. "You've lost not a second. Now, major, we'll push
ahead. Better caution them not to make a sound."
"They won't," said Stark, in answer, and resumed the northward way. Five
minutes and they were skirting an old snake-fence, well out beyond the
hail of the last sentry or vedette of the Union lines. Any moment now
they might meet scouting parties of the rebel horse, and here Lieutenant
Upton warned the major to keep with his command, while he himself,
bending low on his horse's neck, pushed out ahead. Ten minutes more they
went without halt of any kind, but now Stark noted how hard the men were
breathing, and ordered Flint to take it easy. "Soldiers need their wind
if it comes to fighting," said he. Fifteen minutes, and there was a long
fringe of timber ahead, and farther off to the north a light was
shining, like a candle, in a farm-house window, but still the dim
cart-track led on, and the young staff-officer kept out ahead. Little by
little they drew closer to the trees, and eyes and ears were strained
for sight or sound. The major, too, was bending low by this time, and
eagerly, anxiously, scanning the shadowy line ahead. Presently he drew
rein and muttered a call to Snipe, and the lad spurred up alongside.
Both horses were pricking up their ears. "This horse acts as though
there were others ahead there," whispered Stark. "It may be only the
lieutenant's. Here he comes now!"
It was Lieutenant Upton, riding cautiously back. "Major," he muttered,
"that bridge is just across the next field, and I could hear voices and
the sound of horses' hoofs on the planks. If it's that patrol, we've got
'em. We can't deploy yet. We must creep through these woods and deploy
beyond them. I know the ground."
The column had not even halted, for the moment the staff-officer joined
the leader he reined about and rode on, talking eagerly in low tone as
he rode, then once more pushed cautiously ahead, the hoof-beats hardly
audible on the springy turf, and was soon lost among the trees. Five
minutes more and the major and his faithful orderly emerged again under
the open starlight, and there they found their alert guide. "Let them
halt in the timber a moment," whispered Upton. "Look at that light." And
while the head of column abruptly ordered arms, and each succeeding set
of fours almost bumped up against that which preceded it before it could
do likewise, the aide-de-camp pointed southward.
Upon some dark height full three miles away toward the Junction, and
evidently some distance beyond the stream, a bright light, as of a
lantern with brilliant reflector at its back, was shining steadily.
"There was another a mile to the north of us as we crossed the last
open common," said Stark. "Why, look! There it is again, yet it was dark
just now."
And then, suddenly as that northern light appeared, it was extinguished
or hidden. Then, before any one could speak, again it flamed. Again it
disappeared, and the explanation occurred to all three at the same
instant. "Signalling, of course," muttered Upton. "Now get two companies
into line, facing west; then we'll leave our horses with them and creep
out toward the bridge."
Another moment, and while Flint was noiselessly leading the foremost two
into line, the major and the staff-officer had dismounted, handed their
reins to silent Snipe, and out they went, crouching low, into the
westward darkness, while every man breathed hard and listened. Then the
southern light began to flash and disappear alternately. "We are far out
to the west of Centreville," murmured Flint. "Those windows are hidden
from that point. They doubtless think no one can see them here."
Five minutes, and still no sound came from their venturesome scouts.
They had had time to go all the way across if need be. "What d'you
s'pose they signal for?" whispered a young soldier in the leading set,
whereupon the sergeant turned and muttered, "Hush!" and men began to
realize that it was a time to listen--not to talk.
All of a sudden, low, clear, and distinct, a whistle was sounded not
four hundred yards away. The first thought to strike every man was, the
major! but the major had gone straight to the west; this sound came from
across the wide field well to the northward of the supposed position of
the bridge. Before there was time to comment the answer was given
straight out ahead, soft, yet just as distinct. Then all three horses
left with Snipe pricked up their ears and whirled toward the northwest,
for from that quarter came the sound of hoof-beats, the low thud and
rumble of horses moving at lively lope. Swift, invisible, they swooped
down from the northward across the front. Then came sudden check, then
silence, then the next minute the hollow sound of iron-shod hoofs upon
resounding boards. First one horse, at a walk, then two, three, half a
dozen together, and then silence again.
Two minutes later, back from the front, running, came the major.
"Forward, just as you are!" he muttered to Flint. "The bridge is safe,"
and, swinging into saddle and bidding Snipe come on with the
lieutenant's horse, he sped swiftly away across the field. At its
western limit, at the edge of a deep, black trench that stretched away
southward toward Bull Run, they found the staff-officer, standing at the
old wooden bridge.
"They've left it intact," murmured Upton, gleefully, "and they've been
scouting around our right flank for indication of any attack from this
direction, and have missed us entirely. Now let 'em come back and get it
if they can!"
In ten minutes three of Stark's strong companies had stacked arms among
the timber to the west of the clumsy yet precious structure. The fourth
was chosen for guard and picket duty, and, under the guidance of the
energetic young staff-officer, every approach was covered. Wary sentries
were stationed five hundred yards away, up and down the unsightly trough
and well out toward the winding run, with supports and small reserves
intervening between them and the main body. Even the open field to the
east was guarded, for Major Stark meant that no enemy should come upon
him unawares. Finally, deep in the shelter of the grove, they struck a
light and consulted their watches. "Just half-past nine," said Upton,
"and at midnight the move begins. Now I'll ride back and report. What
splendid luck thus far!"
"You have no orderly, lieutenant," said Major Stark. "Let Lawton ride
back with you until you reach our lines. I'd be better satisfied."
"There is no need, thank you, major. There is no likelihood of my
meeting rebel patrols between this and our pickets. Those fellows are
back across Bull Run by this time and riding away to tell Beauregard the
Yanks have no idea of reaching round him this way."
Snipe, listening in silence, hoped, despite the brave resolution of the
earlier evening, that nothing would happen to change the lieutenant's
mind. It wasn't the riding back with him that he dreaded to think of, it
was the solitary trot to rejoin the major after seeing Upton safely to
the lines. There on the distant heights the lights around Centreville
were twinkling, and, even while the officers were consulting a moment
before, the lad noted that while they could no longer see the gleam on
the high ground south of the Run, the men were again whispering together
about that signal to the north of them.
Then the staff-officer held out his hand. "Good-night, Major Stark. I
shall take pleasure in telling the general how prompt and soldierly your
command has been. After all the go-as-you-please business I have had to
note on the march it is good to see a regiment behave like regulars.
Good-night to you, too, my lad. If I ever get a regiment I'd like to
have a hundred young fellows of your calibre," said he, and to Snipe's
surprise and delight Lieutenant Upton was grasping his hand too.
But just as the young officer turned away a thought occurred to him.
"The general will be anxiously awaiting my report, and I must hurry. If
it weren't for that I'd find out what's going on where that light is up
yonder. Good-night again. Look for us along about two o'clock."
The muffled sound of the hoof-beats died away across the open field. The
men close at hand unrolled their blankets and stretched themselves upon
the turf. No fires were allowed, but many a pipe was lighted well within
the shelter of the trees, and, too excited to sleep, they lay chatting
in low tones. Several of the officers grouping about had heard the young
regular's closing words. "That light can't be more'n a mile off," said
Captain Flint. "I would like to know what's going on there myself."
The major had dismounted, and by the gleam of a little folding lantern
was jotting down some memoranda at the moment in the note-book he always
carried. Method was second nature to Stark. Not until he had finished
his writing did he reply. Then, even while glancing over his lines, he
quietly said,--
"You shall. Bring twenty men and come along."
Quarter of an hour later, with the senior captain left in command at the
bridge, Major Stark, Lawton as ever riding close behind him, was leading
slowly and cautiously out of the shadows and across an open field that
sloped gradually toward a low ridge against the northern sky. Behind
them, treading softly, came Flint, a lieutenant, and twenty men. The
latter had fixed bayonets and discarded anything about their equipment
that would rattle. The north star gleamed right over what seemed to be a
little grove along the ridge, and on the edge of the dark patch stood,
against the sky, regular and square in outline, an object like a house.
Not five minutes back a light was shining in the midst of it, but now
that was gone. Slowly, cautiously, the little party continued its silent
move, rising gradually with every rod, and at last the leader came to
another snake-fence, and three or four stout fellows sprang forward and
threw down a panel or two. While this was being done the major looked
back, and there, shining over the low ground from the distant heights
beyond Bull Run, that clear, steady light was gleaming again, powerful,
almost, as the head-light of a locomotive. Away to the southeast,
grouped about Centreville, the camp-fires of the Union troops were
blazing, and from along this ridge their position was plainly visible.
No wonder Virginia sympathizers chose the spot from which to signal! Now
what message might they not be sending two hours later when the army
began to move? It was after ten o'clock, and that house had been dark
for over ten minutes, yet Stark felt confident their stealthy approach
was unsuspected. Then comes the stifled cry, "Ha! there it is
again!--the light in the upper window, well under the eaves!" Snipe's
heart bounds almost into his throat in his excitement, for now it is
barely long pistol-shot away, and he is the proud possessor of a new
Colt's revolver, much handier, he thinks, than the long, cumbrous
musket. And now it's out again; and now, five seconds later, shines
anew, and so it goes,--darkness alternating with light three times, then
all is black and unbroken. A sergeant is somewhere ahead looking for the
next fence. The little party scrambles on up the steeper slope. If only
there are no dogs about! Hear them baying over there toward Centreville?
and over there yonder to the west toward Sudley Church? Surely if there
are dogs here they would be out and baying their reply. Bigger and
blacker looms the house ahead, and still no challenge from dog or man.
Can it be that the farm folk have deserted it, and that only lurking
scouts or spies are here?
And now they come upon a dilapidated picket-fence; beyond it a row of
bushes. The sergeant in advance turns back and tells the major there's a
wide open gateway at the east, and into this he cautiously rides, Snipe
still following. But, oh, how the boy heart is thumping! The roadway is
soft Virginia earth, and the hoofs strike no pebbles. Presently the
major dismounts, and, handing his reins up to Snipe, bids him wait there
in a little open space. Then, noiselessly, he and Flint lead on with the
men, and Snipe feels, rather than sees, that they are surrounding the
house and stationing soldiers at every door and under every window. All
these now are dark save two on the lower floor in front. There are thick
shades within, but they show a dull light, as from a table-lamp. Not a
sound beyond a creaking of a shoe or plank is heard. The men move like
kittens, but it is their first experience of the kind, and most of them
are excited, even nervous. As for Snipe, he rages to see how he is
trembling.
And then all of a sudden the major's horse, rejoicing that the weight is
gone, gives himself a thorough shake, rattling housing and stirrups and
accompanying the shake with a loud b'r-r-r-r of satisfaction. All too
late Snipe springs from saddle and seizes both horses by the nostrils.
Almost instantly booted heels are heard within, and manly, ringing
voices. Somebody comes striding to the door and throws it open. A tall,
slender, shapely fellow is outlined against the dim light within, and a
voice hails cordially,--
"Hullo! What brings you back? Anything the matter over yawnduh?" And
that "yawnduh" betrays the Virginian.
"Nothing," is the answer, in Stark's quiet tone. "But your house is
surrounded by the troops of the United States and I'll trouble you to
come out."
For answer, out goes the light in the room, slam goes the door, and then
there is dead silence just about five seconds. Then the order, "Break it
in!"
Up the low steps spring a sergeant and two men. Crash goes the door
before their heavy rifle-butts, and then, bayonets advanced, in they go.
The major, following coolly, strikes a light, and holds aloft his little
lantern. The candles on the table are still smoking, and are quickly
again ablaze. "Come in here, three or four more of you," orders Stark,
while Flint comes hurrying round to the front. There is a rush of feet
on the upper floor, a back window is hurled open. "Head 'em off there!"
shouts Flint, as again he runs back. There is a sound of sudden scuffle,
and some stern order within. Then Snipe can stand it no longer and leads
his excited horses closer to the house. He hears the rifle-butts go
banging at the doors up-stairs and more men hurrying into the hall. He
hears Flint repeat the cry, "Watch every window!" And now he shifts the
bight of both reins into the left hand and whips out his revolver, still
towing his suspicious and reluctant steeds, and just as he nears the
front, almost at his feet, the doors of a cellarway, hitherto unseen and
unsuspected, fly open. Two dark figures burst forth. He feels again,
rather than sees, that a murderous blow is aimed at his head, and even
as he ducks out of the way a revolver flashes and barks just at his ear,
and, now instinctively, he pulls trigger. At the flash and bang of the
pistols the startled horses both jerk back, pulling him with them. One
rein is torn from his grasp, but the captor gains nothing, for before he
can reach pommel or stirrup, two long-legged Yankees are on him, and he
is dragged back into the light. A third stumbles over a prostrate form
writhing in the road, as Snipe quickly finds his feet; and, as Major
Stark comes striding out and brings his lantern to bear upon the scene,
the lad, pale, breathing hard, but with flashing eyes and that revolver
grasped in his clinching hand, is standing over his stricken
prisoner,--first capture of the advancing arms of the Union,--a young
Confederate officer, whose brand-new uniform is richly laced with gold,
but whose face is now white as death as he swoons away.
[Illustration: First capture of the advancing arms of the Union.]