CAPTURE OF RAILROAD TRAINS AT MANASSAS JUNCTION--BATTLE WITH TAYLOR'S
NEW JERSEY BRIGADE--NIGHT MARCH BY LIGHT OF BURNING CARS
Our halts and opportunities for rest had been and continued to be few
and of short duration, traveling steadily on throughout the twenty-four
hours. It has been many years since, but how vividly some scenes are
recalled, others vague and the order of succession forgotten. After
passing through Thoroughfare Gap we moved on toward Manassas Junction,
arriving within a mile or two of the place shortly after dawn, when we
came upon a sleepy Federal cavalryman mounted on a fine young horse.
Lieutenant Brown took him and his arms in charge and rode the horse for
a few days, but, learning that he had been taken from a farmer in the
neighborhood, returned him to his owner. As we approached the Junction
several cannon-shots warned us that some force of the enemy was there,
but not General Pope, as we had left him many miles in our rear.
In the regiment of our cavalry, acting as a vanguard, I had but two
acquaintances--old college-mates--and these were the only two members
of the command I met. One of them gave me a loaf of baker's bread, the
other presented me with a handful of cigars, and they both informed us
that they had made a big capture, which we would soon see. The samples
they had brought made us the more anxious. Arriving in sight of the
place, we saw the tracks of both railroads closely covered for half a
mile with the cars filled with army supplies of every description. The
artillery that had been firing a short time before opened on us again,
while we were preparing to help ourselves, but not before one of my
messmates had secured a cup of molasses. With the help of this, my loaf
of bread was soon devoured, and with a relish contrasting very favorably
with my sudden loss of appetite for the beans at Cedar Creek a few
months before. On this occasion we managed to appease our hunger with
very little interruption from the flying shells. The firing, however,
was at long range and soon ceased, and we resumed the march, saddened to
part with so rich a booty and the opportunity to fill our stomachs and
empty haversacks.
As we moved quietly along with General Jackson and one or two of his
staff riding at the front of the battery, there suddenly appeared, about
a mile ahead of us, a line of bayonets glistening in the sunlight. As we
halted I heard General Jackson and those about him questioning each
other and speculating as to what troops they could be, whether friend
or foe. Their bayonets were evidently too bright for our war-worn
weapons, and the direction from which they came and, a little later, the
color of their uniforms being distinguishable, no longer left room for
doubt. It proved to be a brigade of New Jersey infantry commanded by
General Taylor, who had just arrived by rail from Alexandria. Rodes's
division was on our left and not three hundred yards distant. As the
enemy advanced, Jackson ordered Rodes to halt. The Federal brigade came
up on our right about one hundred and twenty-five yards from us,
marching by companies in column.
Jackson ordered us to fire on them with canister, which we did, and very
rapidly, as they passed. Then, limbering up, we galloped again to their
flank and repeated the operation; meanwhile, one of our batteries
immediately in their front firing at them with shells. Jackson, who
accompanied us, then drew a white handkerchief from his pocket, and,
waving it up and down, ordered them to surrender, in response to which
one of them raised his gun and fired deliberately at him. I heard the
Minie as it whistled by him. After limbering up our guns for the third
time to keep in close range, I turned to get my blanket, which I had
left on the ground while engaged, and, as I ran to overtake the guns,
found myself between Rodes's line, which had now advanced, and the
Federals, in easy range of each other. I expected, of course, to be
riddled with bullets, but neither side fired a shot.
The Federals moved on in perfect order, then suddenly broke and came
back like a flock of sheep; and, most singular of all, Rodes's division
was ordered back and let them pass, we still firing. All in all, it was
a fine sample of a sham battle, as I saw none of them killed and heard
there were very few, and the only shot they fired was the one at General
Jackson. After crossing a ravine along which ran a creek, they had a
hill to ascend which kept them still in full view, while we fired at
them with shells and solid shot as they streamed along the paths.
Maupin, a member of our detachment, picked up a canteen of whiskey which
had been thrown aside in their flight. As it was the only liquid to
which we had access on that hot August day, we each took a turn, and
soon undertook to criticise our gunner's bad shooting, telling him among
other things that if he would aim lower he would do more execution.
After the enemy had disappeared from our sight, and the battery had gone
into park, I borrowed Sergeant Dick Payne's horse to ride to the creek,
over which the enemy had retreated, for a canteen of water. When within
a few steps of the branch, I passed two artillerymen from another
battery on foot, who were on the same errand, but none of us armed. We
saw a Yankee infantryman a short distance off, hurrying along with gun
on shoulder. We called to him to surrender, and, as I rode to get his
gun, another one following came in sight. When I confronted him and
ordered him to throw down his gun, he promptly obeyed. The gun, a
brand-new one, was loaded, showing a bright cap under the hammer. The
man was a German, and tried hard, in broken English, to explain, either
how he had fallen behind, or to apologize for coming to fight us--I
could not tell which.
We now had full and undisturbed possession of Manassas Junction and of
the long trains of captured cars, through the doors and openings of
which could be seen the United States army supplies of all kinds and of
the best quality. On a flat car there stood two new pieces of artillery
made of a bronze-colored metal, and of a different style from any we had
yet seen. In our last battle, that of Slaughter's Mountain, we had
noticed, for the first time, a singular noise made by some of the shells
fired at us, and quite like the shrill note of a tree-frog on a big
scale. Since then we had sometimes speculated as to what new engine of
war we had to contend with. Here it was, and known as the three-inch
rifled gun, a most accurate shooter, and later on much used by both
Federals and Confederates.
In view of the fact that almost all of the field artillery used by the
Confederates was manufactured in the North, a supply for both armies
seemed to have been wisely provided in the number they turned out. Here
we spent the remainder of the day, but not being allowed to plunder the
cars did not have the satisfaction of replacing our worn-out garments
with the new ones in sight. We were very willing to don the blue
uniforms, but General Jackson thought otherwise. What we got to eat was
also disappointing, and not of a kind to invigorate, consisting, as it
did, of hard-tack, pickled oysters, and canned stuff generally.
Darkness had scarcely fallen before we were again on the march, and
before two miles had been traveled the surrounding country was
illuminated by the blazing cars and their contents, fired to prevent
their falling again into the hands of their original owners. The entire
night was spent marching through woods and fields, but in what direction
we had no idea. Notwithstanding the strict orders to the contrary, two
of our boys--Billy Bumpus and John Gibbs--had procured from a car about
half a bushel of nice white sugar, put it in a sack-bag, and tied it
securely, they thought, to the axle of a caisson. During the night
either the bag stretched or the string slipped, letting a corner drag on
the ground, which soon wore a hole. When daylight broke, the first thing
that met their eager gaze was an empty bag dangling in the breeze and
visions of a trail of white sugar mingling with the dust miles behind.
Many times afterward, in winter quarters or during apple-dumpling
season, have I heard them lament the loss of that sweetening.
There are various scenes and incidents on the battlefield, in camp, and
on the march which leave an indelible impression. Of these, among the
most vivid to me is that of a column of men and horses at dawn of day,
after having marched throughout the night. The weary animals, with
heads hanging and gaunt sides, put their feet to the ground as softly as
if fearing to arouse their drowsy mates or give themselves a jar. A man
looks some years older than on the preceding day, and his haggard face
as if it had been unwashed for a week. Not yet accustomed to the light,
and thinking his countenance unobserved, as in the darkness, he makes no
effort to assume an expression more cheerful than in keeping with his
solemn feelings, and, when spoken to, his distressful attempt to smile
serves only to emphasize the need of "sore labor's bath." Vanity,
however, seems to prevent each one from seeing in his neighbor's visage
a photograph of his own. But, with an hour of sunlight and a halt for
breakfast with a draught of rare coffee, he stands a new creature. On
the morning after our departure from Manassas Junction, having marched
all night, we had a good illustration of this.
About seven o'clock we came to a Federal wagon which had upset over a
bank and was lying, bottom upward, in a ditch below the road. Around it
were boxes and packages of food, desiccated vegetables red with tomatoes
and yellow with pumpkin. Here a timely halt was called. Across the
ditch, near where we went into park, the infantry who had preceded us
had carried from the overturned wagon a barrel of molasses with the head
knocked out. Surging around it was a swarm of men with canteens, tin
cups, and frying-pans--anything that would hold molasses. As each vessel
was filled by a dip into the barrel it was held aloft, to prevent its
being knocked from the owner's grasp as he made his way out through the
struggling mass; and woe be to him that was hatless! as the stream that
trickled from above, over head and clothes, left him in a sorry plight.