position. Nature had done very much towards rendering it a second
Gibraltar, and art had completed the work. The country around was wild
and broken, with but few roads fit for the movements of an army, and
those easily guarded. Centreville was twenty-two miles distant from
Washington, and Manassas Junction six or seven more. About midway
between the two flowed the little rivulet of Bull Run, in a general
direction from north-west to south-east. A road led from Centreville to
the Junction, crossing the Run three miles from that place, at
“Blackburn’s Ford,” while a turnpike running towards Warrenton, also
crossed Bull Run at Stone Bridge, four miles distant. Somewhat east of
south, a country road from Centreville crossed Bull Run, and the
railroad at “Union Mills.”
The Confederate force was distributed along the Run from Union Mills to
the Stone Bridge, with reserves and a strongly fortified position near
the junction.
The array of General McDowell, when it marched to attack that position,
numbered about 30,000 men, consisting, with the exception of 700 or 800
regular troops, of raw volunteers, none of whom had been under military
discipline more than two or three months. Added to this must be
remembered the fact that, within three days, ten thousand of the number
would have a right to claim their dismissal, as their term of enlistment
(three months) would then expire. An army, consequently, less prepared
to march to the attack of a strongly fortified position it would have
been difficult to assemble; and this was rendered more fatal in its
effects from the fact that the officers, with the exception of a few who
had fought in the Mexican war, were unused to actual fighting, and
almost totally unacquainted with their different commands.
Under these unpromising auspices, the army marched from the banks of the
Potomac on the afternoon of July 16th. It advanced in four columns,
toiling along under the burning sun and over the hot ground. One by the
turnpike, one on the right, and one on the left of the railroad, and
another between the turnpike and railroad. Expecting to encounter the
enemy at Fairfax Court-House, seven miles this side of Centreville,
where they had thrown up intrenchments, the three columns were directed
to coöperate at that point. But the place was entered about noon on the
17th, only to find the intrenchments abandoned and signs of a hasty
retreat visible.
[Illustration: [Map]]
[Illustration: [Map]]
On the morning of the 18th, the different columns commenced their march
from Fairfax to Centreville. While General McDowell made a personal
reconnoissance to the left, making the forward movement a mere
demonstration, Major J. G. Barnard, chief-engineer of the staff,
proceeded to examine the enemy’s position in front. In this, however, he
had been anticipated by General Tyler, who had pushed a brigade on
towards Blackburn’s Ford. Troops were in motion on the plateau of
Manassas, moving up to reinforce the enemy’s lines, and though no attack
had been intended by the commanding general at that particular point,
they opened upon them with two twenty-pounder guns in hope of
ascertaining the position of these batteries. A reply was soon
obtained—a battery, invisible except by the smoke, poured forth rapid
discharges, and it required the assistance of a battery of rifled
six-pounders to enable the Union troops to silence it. The brigade was
then filed down to the stream and skirmishing maintained for some time.
This battle, though apparently of small importance, was disastrous,
inasmuch as it disorganized the arrangements of the commander-in-chief,
and was accompanied by great loss of life, when compared with the
magnitude of the undertaking and any beneficial result that could have
sprung from it. The possibility of charging into Manassas, even under
the most fortunate circumstances, was so remote, that the wisdom of an
action at that point and at that time has been gravely questioned by the
best military authorities. That night the columns of the army united,
and encamped about a mile in the rear of Fairfax Court House, upon a
broad hill-side, and on the extended plain at its base. A stream of
water which crossed the grounds rendered the spot peculiarly important
to the soldiers.
The next day was spent in reconnoitering, and in determining how and
where an attack should be made. The Stone Bridge was guarded by
batteries, and the ground beyond obstructed by formidable abattis. The
roads leading to fords between Blackburn’s and the Stone Bridge were
mere by-paths, and the opposite bank of the stream steep, tangled, and
obstructed. Two miles above, however, there was a good ford, but
slightly guarded, at Sudley’s Spring.
On these data the plan of attack was based, as follows: One division,
under Colonel Miles, to make, with one of its brigades, a false attack
on Blackburn’s Ford; another division (Tyler’s) to move up the turnpike
to the Stone Bridge and threaten that point, and at the proper time
carry it, and unite with the principal column, which consisted of
Hunter’s and Heintzelman’s divisions; then by a flank movement reach the
Sudley Ford, and descending the right bank of the stream, take the
defences in the rear of Stone Bridge, and give battle with the united
force, strike at the enemy’s railroad communication, or otherwise, as
circumstances should dictate.
THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
Bull Run, that once unknown name, is marked with great crimson letters
upon the scroll of time! Tears wrung from the anguished soul, tears hot
and blinding, still fall at the mere mention of its ill-omened name. A
nation’s _miserere_ has been tolled from uncounted steeples over its
dead, and a whole nation put on weeds of mourning when its battle cloud
spread slowly over the land, filling it with gloom.
With bayonets for pens, and precious human blood for ink, the record of
this first great battle of the Union War should be written in the
history of the world;—the ensanguined page illuminated with iron hail
and leaden sleet—with hissing shot—whirlwinds of death-missiles, and the
fire-belching portals of masked batteries. O, day of doom, day of sad
errors and illustrious deeds, when blood was poured forth like water,
until the reeking earth shuddered as it drank in the crimson deluge!
Generations shall hereafter look back on thee with painful wonder, for
they will remember that the first pitched battle in which Americans met
Americans in mortal strife, was fought on thy soil, beneath “the bloody
sun at noon.”
On the morning of the 21st, McDowell’s forces were encamped in and
around Centreville. The divisions were under orders to march at
half-past two o’clock, that they might reach the ground early and avoid
the heat. Before this time the encampments were in motion; but the
troops were not yet sufficiently disciplined for the exigencies of a
prompt march, and some delay arose with the first division in getting
out of camp. Thus the road was obstructed, and other divisions thrown
two hours out of time. But there was no lack of energy or zeal; the very
want of discipline which caused delay rendered the scenes in the various
encampments more grand and imposing. It was indeed a beautiful
spectacle. A lovely moonlight flooded the whole country. Soft mists lay
in the valleys—the hill-tops were studded for miles around by the
camp-fires which thirty regiments had left, kindling the landscape with
their star-like gleams. In the hollows, along the level grounds, and
among the trees, thousands on thousands of armed men moved athwart the
fires, harnessing horses to artillery, getting out army wagons,
preparing ambulances and filling haversacks with the three days’ rations
ordered for their subsistence. No man of all that vast host was
idle—want of order there might have been, but no lack of energy.
Now, thirty thousand men, horses, ordnance and wagons, were all in
place, ready for a march through the beautiful night, and under that
serene moon, which many of them would never look upon again.
McDowell and his staff moved with the first—Tyler’s—central column, and
the advance commenced. The picturesque encampments were soon left
behind; the fires grew paler and twinkled out in a glow of mist; the
tents dwindled into littleness, till they seemed more like great flocks
of white-plumaged birds, nestled in the foliage, than the paraphernalia
of war. Nothing could be more quiet and peaceful than the country the
troops had left—nothing more solemnly grand than the advance. It was an
army of Americans, marching through the still night to meet Americans
for the first time in a great pitched battle. Nothing but holy
patriotism and a stern sense of duty could have led these men into the
field. They marched on, with thousands of bayonets gleaming in the
moonlight, and casting long-pointed shadows over the path; staff
officers formed imposing groups as they moved forward in the moonlight,
casting pictures upon the earth that were like broken battle scenes.
In the ranks there was something more than stern courage; generous
enthusiasm and honest emulation were eloquent there. Comrade greeted
comrade, for the coming danger made friends brothers; and common
acquaintances fell into affectionate intimacy. Many a touching message
was exchanged between men who had never met out of the ranks, for while
they panted for victory, each man prepared to earn it with his life.
These men knew that a terrible day’s fighting lay before them; but the
previous defeat of Thursday rankled in their proud hearts, and each man
felt it as an individual reproach which must be swept away. From the
central column to the rear, this feeling prevailed among the men.
The troops of the old Bay State, of Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New
York, entered into a spirit of generous rivalry. Ohio, Michigan,
Wisconsin and Minnesota entered the list with true Western fervor, while
the rich Celtic humor rose in fun and pathos from the Irish troops.
The officers shared this enthusiasm with their men. Tyler moved on,
burning to atone for his noble rashness at Blackburn’s Ford—Burnside,
Corcoran, Keyes, Spidel, Meagher, and many another noble fellow, thought
exultingly of the laurels to be gathered on the morrow. General
McDowell’s carriage halted at the two roads, a spot that he deemed most
convenient for receiving despatches from the various points of the
battle-field.
Here the column of General Hunter diverged from the main body and went
away through the moonlit country on its assigned duty, which led him
around the enemy’s flank by a long and harassing route. With him went
Heintzelman, Porter, Burnside and Sprague with their valiant Rhode
Islanders, and Wilcox, that bravest of young men and most brilliant
author, who met a fate almost worse than death in the hottest of the
coming battle. There, too, was Slocum, Haggerty, and many another
valiant fellow, marching forward to a glorious death. Each and all of
these, with their regiments or brigades, swept to the right, to meet
their comrades again in the hottest of the battle.
A mile from the Cross Roads, and the dawn of a bright July day broke
pleasantly on the moving troops—a morning cool with dew, fresh with
verdure, and tranquil and peaceful, save for the armed men that made the
earth tremble under their solid tread as they moved over it. The mists
of a dewy night were slowly uplifted, and beautiful reaches of the
country were revealed. On the left was the station assigned to
Richardson and Davies; beyond it, the valley which one unfortunate
conflict had so lately stained with blood.
When Tyler’s division came to the edge of a wooded hill overlooking
these scenes, the sun arose, flooding them with rosy splendor. The
soldiers knew, but could not realize that this scene, so beautiful and
tranquil, had been a field of carnage, and would, before that sun went
down, be red with the blood of many a brave heart beating among them
then. They knew well that in a brief time the pure atmosphere, which it
was now a joy to breathe, would be heavy with stifling smoke; that the
noble forests whose leaves trembled so pleasantly in the newborn
sunshine, were but a concealment for masked batteries—fearful engines of
destruction, and men more ravenous for their lives than the wild animals
that civilization had driven away from them.
From the point of view just described, where the road falls gently down
to a ravine, the enemy first appeared. A line of infantry was drawn up
in a distant meadow, close upon a back-ground of woods.
The second and third regiments of Tyler’s brigade, under Schenck, was at
once formed into line in the woods on either side, the First Ohio,
Second Wisconsin, Seventy-ninth, Thirteenth, and Sixty-ninth New York
regiments succeeding each other on the right, and the Second Ohio and
Second New York being similarly placed on the left, while the artillery
came down the road between.
A great 32-pound rifled Parrott gun—the only one of its calibre in the
field service—was brought forward, and made to bear on the point where
the bayonets of the enemy had suddenly disappeared in the woods, and a
shell was fired at fifteen minutes past six A. M., which burst in the
air; but the report of the piece awoke the country for leagues around to
a sense of what that awful day would prove. The reverberation was
tremendous, and the roar of the revolving shell indescribable.
Throughout the battle that gun, whenever it was fired, seemed to hush
and overpower everything else. No answering salute came back, so the
32-pounder sent a second shell at a hill-top, two miles off, where it
was suspected that a battery had been planted by the rebels.
The bomb burst close at the intended point, but no answer came. General
Tyler ordered Carlisle to cease firing, and bring the rest of his
battery to the front of the woods and get the column ready for instant
action.
Tyler’s position was before the valley of Bull Run, but the descent was
gradual, and surrounded by thick woods down almost to the ravine through
which the stream flows. The enemy, on the contrary, had cleared away all
the obstructing foliage, and bared the earth in every direction over
which they could bring their artillery upon the Union forces. Clumps of
trees and bushes remained wherever their earthworks and other concealed
defences could be advantageously planted among them. The ground on their
side was vastly superior to that of the assailants. It rose in gradual
slopes to great heights, but was broken into hills and terraces in many
places, upon which strong earthworks were planted, some openly, but the
greater portion concealed. Nature had supplied positions of defence
which needed but little labor to render them desperately formidable. How
thoroughly these advantages had been improved was established by the
almost superhuman efforts which were required to dislodge their troops,
and by the obstinate opposition which they displayed before retiring
from one strong point to another. It was now about seven o’clock—for an
hour everything was silent. At eight, the deep sullen boom of
Richardson’s and Davies’ batteries at Blackburn’s Ford broke the
stillness, and from that quarter constant cannonading was kept up for
some time.
By this time scouts reported the enemy in some force on the left. Two or
three Ohio skirmishers had been killed. Carlisle’s battery was sent to
the front of the woods on the right, where it could be brought to play
when needed. A few shells were thrown into the opposite thicket, and
then the Second Ohio and Second New York marched down to rout the enemy
from their hiding places. As they rushed toward a thickly-covered abatis
on the banks of the Run, the rebels came swarming out like bees, and
fled to the next fortification beyond.
General Schenck’s brigade was moved forward to the left, but half way to
the Run met the full fire of a masked battery effectually concealed by
the bushes.
A few dead and wounded began to be brought in, and the battle of
Manassas had commenced. Carlisle’s howitzers and the great rifled gun
were opened in the direction of the battery, which answered promptly,
and a brief but terrific cannonading ensued. In less than half an hour
the enemy’s guns were silenced, two of Carlisle’s howitzers advancing
through the woods to gain a closer position, and Schenck’s brigade
retired to its first lines.
At eleven o’clock, the artillery, which resounded from every portion of
the field, extending from Davies and Richardson’s position on the
extreme left, to the right near Sudley, gave startling evidence that
Hunter was making his way around the enemy. The roll and thunder was
incessant—great volumes of smoke surged over the vast field, impaling it
in the distance, and making the air around the near batteries thick with
smoke.
It was true, Hunter’s and Heintzelman’s columns had taken the field on
the extreme right.
McDowell in his plan of battle had calculated that the marching colunm
should diverge from the turnpike by early daylight (a night march being
deemed imprudent), and reach Sudley Ford by six or seven, A. M. The
Stone Bridge division did not clear the road over which both, for a
certain distance, had to pass, so that the column could take up its
march, until after the time. The route to Sudley proved far longer and
more difficult than was anticipated. The column did not reach the Sudley
Ford till near half-past nine, three or four hours “behind time.” When
it reached the ford, the heads of the enemy’s columns were visible on
the march to meet it.
The ground between the stream and the road, leading from Sudley south,
was for about a mile thickly wooded; on the right, for the same
distance, divided between fields and timber. A mile from the ford the
country on both sides of the road is open, and for a mile further large,
irregular fields extend to the turnpike, which, after crossing Bull Run
at the “Stone Bridge,” passes what became the field of battle, through
the valley of a small tributary of the Run.
But, notwithstanding a fearful march over broken grounds in the hot sun,
with his men suffering from heat and thirst, Hunter had reached his
point of operation, late it is true, but from no fault of his. The weary
soldiers uttered exclamations of joy when they saw the limpid waters of
the Run, and plunging into its current bathed their hot hands and
burning faces as they waded through, and came out on the other side
greatly invigorated. While his thirty men were refreshing themselves
with cool draughts of water, Hunter sent a courier to General McDowell,
reporting that he had safely crossed the Run.
The General was lying on the ground, having been ill during the night,
but at once mounted his horse and rode on to join the column on which so
much depended.
The halt had not lasted two minutes when Col. Burnside led his different
regiments into their position on the field. The Second Rhode Island
entered first to the extreme right; then the Rhode Island battery of six
pieces, and two howitzers of the Seventy-first, and after it on the
left, the First Rhode Island and the Second New Hampshire, all formed in
line of battle on the top of the hill.
Shortly after the leading regiment of the first brigade reached the open
space, and whilst others and the second brigade were crossing to the
front and right, the enemy opened his fire, beginning with artillery,
and following it up with infantry. The leading brigade (Burnside’s) had
to sustain this shock for a short time without support, and met it
bravely. Gov. Sprague himself directed the movements of the Rhode Island
brigade, and was conspicuous through the day for gallantry. The enemy
were found in heavy numbers opposite this noble brigade of our army, and
greeted it with shell and long volleys of battalion firing as it
advanced. But on it went, and a fierce conflict now commenced.
The enemy clung to the protecting wood with tenacity, and the Rhode
Island battery became so much endangered as to impel the commander of
the second brigade to call for the assistance of the battalion of
regulars. At this time news ran through the lines that Colonel Hunter
was seriously wounded. Porter took command of his division; and, in
reply to the urgent request of Colonel Burnside, detached the battalion
of regulars to his assistance, followed shortly afterwards by the New
Hampshire regiments. Shortly afterward the other corps of Porter’s
brigade, and a regiment detached from Heintzelman’s division to the
left, emerged from the timber, where some hasty disposition of
skirmishers had been made at the head of the column, in which Colonel
Slocum, of the Second Rhode Island regiment, distinguished himself for
great activity.
The rattle of musketry and crash of round shot through the leaves and
branches, had warned them when the action commenced, and the column
moved forward before these preliminaries were completed, eager for a
share in the fight.
The head of Porter’s brigade was immediately turned a little to the
right, in order to gain time and room for deployment on the right of the
second brigade. Griffin’s battery found its way through the timber to
the fields beyond, followed promptly by the marines, while the
Twenty-Seventh took direction more to the left, and the Fourteenth
followed upon the trail of the battery—all moving up at a double-quick
step. At this time General McDowell with his staff rode through the
lines and was loudly cheered as they passed within six hundred feet of
the enemy’s line.
The enemy appeared drawn up in a long line, extending along the
Warrenton turnpike, from a house and haystack upon their extreme right,
to a house beyond the left of the division. Behind that house there was
a heavy masked battery, which, with three others along his line, on the
heights beyond, covered the ground through which the troops were
advancing with all sorts of projectiles. A grove, in front of Porter’s
right wing, afforded it shelter and protection, while the underbrush
along the road in the fences, screened to some extent his left wing.
Griffin advanced to within one thousand yards, and opened a deadly fire
upon these batteries, which were soon silenced or driven away.
The right was rapidly developed by the marines, Twenty-Seventh,
Fourteenth, and Eighth, with the cavalry in rear of the right; the enemy
retreating in more precipitation than order as the line advanced. The
second brigade (Burnside’s) was at this time attacking the enemy’s right
with great vigor.
The rebels soon came flying from the woods toward the right, and the
Twenty-Seventh completed their rout by charging directly upon their
centre in face of a scorching fire, while the Fourteenth and Eighth
moved down the turnpike to cut off the retiring foe, and to support the
Twenty-Seventh, which had lost its gallant Colonel, but was standing the
brunt of the action, though its ranks were terribly thinned in the
dreadful fire. Now the resistance of the enemy’s left was so obstinate
that the beaten right retired in safety.
The head of Heintzelman’s column at this moment appeared upon the field,
and the Eleventh and Fifth Massachusetts regiments moved forward to
support the centre, while staff officers could be seen galloping rapidly
in every direction, endeavoring to rally the broken Eighth, but with
little success.
The Fourteenth, though it had broken, was soon rallied in rear of
Griffin’s battery, which took up a position further to the front and
right, from which his fire was delivered with such precision and
rapidity as to compel the batteries of the enemy to retire in
consternation far behind the brow of the hill in front.
At this time Porter’s brigade occupied a line considerably in advance of
that first occupied by the left wing of the rebels. The battery was
pouring its withering fire into the batteries and columns of the enemy
wherever they exposed themselves. The cavalry were engaged in feeling
the left flank of the enemy’s position, in doing which some important
captures were made, one by Sergeant Socks, of the Second Dragoons, of a
General George Stewart, of Baltimore. The cavalry also did brave
service.