Twenty-Seventh was resting on the edge of the woods in the centre,
covered by a hill upon which lay the Eleventh and Fifth Massachusetts,
occasionally delivering a scattering fire. The Fourteenth was moving to
the right flank, the Eighth had lost its organization, the marines were
moving up in fine style in the rear of the Fourteenth, and Captain
Arnold was occupying a height in the middle ground with his battery. At
this juncture there was a temporary lull in the firing from the rebels,
who appeared only now and then on the heights in irregular masses, but
to serve as marks for Griffin’s guns. The prestige of success had thus
far attended the efforts of the inexperienced but gallant Union troops.
The lines of the enemy had been forcibly shifted nearly a mile to their
left and rear. The flags of eight regiments, though borne somewhat
wearily, now pointed toward the hill from which disordered masses of the
rebels had been seen hastily retiring.
Rickett’s battery, together with Griffith’s battery, on the side of the
hill, had been objects of the special attention of the enemy, who had
succeeded in disabling Rickett’s battery, and then attempted to take it.
Three times was he repulsed by different corps in succession, and driven
back, and the guns taken by hand, the horses being killed, and pulled
away. The third time the repulse seemed to be final, for he was driven
entirely from the hill, and so far beyond it as not to be in sight. He
had before this been driven nearly a mile and a half, and was beyond the
Warrenton road, which was entirely in Federal possession, from the Stone
Bridge westward. The engineers were just completing the removal of the
abatis across the road, to allow reinforcements (Schenck’s brigade and
Ayers’ battery) to join in. The enemy was evidently disheartened and
broken.
But at this moment, when everything pointed to a speedy victory, orders
came through Major Barry of the Fifth artillery, for Griffin’s battery
to move from the hill upon which the house stood, to the top of a hill
on the right, with the “Fire Zouaves” and marines, while the Fourteenth
entered the skirt of wood on their right, to protect that flank, and a
column, composed of the Twenty-seventh New York, Eleventh and Fifth
Massachusetts, Second Minnesota, and Sixty-Ninth New York, moved up
toward the left batteries. It had taken position, but before the
flanking supports had reached theirs, a murderous fire of musketry and
rifles opened at pistol range, cutting down every cannonier, and a large
number of horses. The fire came from some infantry of the enemy, which
had been mistaken for Union forces; an officer in the field having
stated that it was a regiment sent by Colonel Heintzelman to support the
batteries.
As soon as the Zouaves came up, they were led forward against an Alabama
regiment, partly concealed in a clump of small pines in an old field.
After a severe fire they broke, and the greatest portion of them fell to
the rear, keeping up a desultory firing over the heads of their comrades
in front; at the same moment they were charged by a company of rebel
cavalry on their rear, who came by a road through two strips of woods on
the extreme right. The fire of the Zouaves dispersed them. The
discomfiture of this cavalry was completed by a fire from Captain
Colburn’s company of United States cavalry, which killed and wounded
several men. Colonel Farnham, with some of his officers and men, behaved
gallantly, and many of his men did good service as skirmishers later in
the day. General Heintzelman then led up the Minnesota regiment, which
was also repulsed, but retired in tolerably good order. It did good
service in the woods on the right flank, and was among the last to
retire, moving off the field with the Third United States infantry. Next
was led forward the First Michigan, which was also repulsed, and retired
in considerable confusion. They were rallied, and helped to hold the
woods on the right. The Brooklyn Fourteenth then appeared on the ground,
coming forward in gallant style. They were led forward to the left,
where the Alabama regiment had been posted in the early part of the
action, but had now disappeared, and soon came in sight of the line of
the enemy drawn up beyond the clump of trees. Soon after the firing
commenced, the regiment broke and retired. It was useless to attempt a
rally. The want of discipline in these regiments was so great that the
most of the men would run from fifty to several hundred yards in the
rear, and continue to fire, compelling those in front to retreat.
During this time Rickett’s battery had been captured and retaken three
times by Heintzelman’s forces, but was finally lost, most of the horses
having been killed—Captain Ricketts being wounded, and First Lieutenant
D. Ramsay killed. Lieutenant Kirby behaved gallantly, and succeeded in
carrying off one caisson. Before this time, heavy reinforcements of the
enemy were distinctly seen approaching by two roads, extending and
outflanking Heintzelman on the right. General Howard’s brigade came on
the field at this time, having been detained by the General as a
reserve. It took post on a hill on Heintzelman’s right and rear, and for
some time gallantly held the enemy in check. One company of cavalry
attached to Heintzelman’s division, was joined, during the engagement,
by the cavalry of Colonel Hunter’s division, under the command of Major
Palmer.
Colonel W. B. Franklin commanded the first brigade of Heintzelman’s
division. A portion of that brigade rendered distinguished service, and
received official commendation from the commanding general.
General Tyler, who kept his position at the Stone Bridge, to menace that
point, and at the proper moment to carry it and unite with the turning
column, had sent forward the right wing of his command to co-operate
with Hunter as soon as he was discovered making his way on the flank.
Two brigades (Sherman’s and Keyes’) of that division had passed the Run.
Colonel Sherman joined himself to the divisions of Hunter and
Heintzelman, and was soon engaged in the hottest part of the action.
The famous Irish regiment, 1,600 strong, who have had so much of the
hard digging to perform, claimed the honor of a share in the hard
fighting, and led the van of Tyler’s attack, followed by the
Seventy-ninth (Highlanders), and Thirteenth New York, and the Second
Wisconsin.
It was a brave sight—that rush of the Sixty-ninth into the
death-struggle—with such cheers as proved a hearty love of the work
before them! With a quick step at first, and then a double-quick, and at
last a run, they dashed forward and along the edge of the extended
forest. Coats and knapsacks were thrown to either side, that nothing
might impede their work. It was certain that no guns would slip from the
hands of those determined fellows, even if dying agonies were needed to
close them with a firmer grasp. As the line swept along, Meagher
galloped toward the head, crying, “Come on, boys! you’ve got your chance
at last!”
[Illustration:
BRILLIANT CHARGE ON A REBEL BATTERY.
]
Sherman’s brigade thus moved forward for half a mile, describing quite
one-fourth of a circle on the right, Colonel Quimby’s regiment in front,
the other regiments following in line of battle—the Wisconsin Second,
New York Seventy-ninth, and New York Sixty-ninth in succession. Quimby’s
regiment advanced steadily up the hill and opened fire on the enemy, who
had made a stand. The regiment continued advancing as the enemy gave
way, till the head of his column reached the point where Rickett’s
battery had been cut up. The other regiments followed under a fearful
cannonading. At the point where the road crossed the ridge to the left,
the ground was swept by a fire of artillery, rifles, and musketry.
Regiment after regiment were driven from it, following the Zouaves and a
battalion of marines.
When the Wisconsin Second was abreast of the enemy, it was ordered to
leave the roadway and attack him. This regiment ascended the hill, was
met with a sharp fire, returned it gallantly, and advanced, delivering
its fire. But the response was terrific, and the regiment fled in
confusion toward the road. It rallied again, passed the brow of the hill
a second time, and was again repulsed in disorder. By this time the New
York Seventy-ninth had closed up. It was impossible to get a good view
of the ground. In it there was one battery of artillery, which poured an
incessant fire upon the advancing column, and the ground was irregular,
with small clusters of pines, which afforded shelter to the enemy. The
fire of rifles and musketry grew hotter and hotter. The Seventy-ninth,
headed by Colonel Cameron, charged across the hill, and for a short time
the contest was terrible. They rallied several times under fire, but
finally broke and gained the cover of the hill.
This left the field open to the New York Sixty-ninth, Colonel Corcoran,
who, in his turn, led his regiment over the crest, and had in full open
view the ground so severely contested. The firing was terrific, the roar
of cannon, musketry, and rifles, incessant. The enemy was here in
immense force. The Sixty-ninth held the ground for some time with
desperate courage, but finally fell back in disorder.
At this time Quimby’s regiment occupied another ridge to the left,
overlooking the same field, fiercely engaged. Colonel Keyes, from
Tyler’s division, had formed in line with Sherman’s brigade, and came
into conflict on its right with the enemy’s cavalry and infantry, which
he drove back. The further march of the brigade was arrested by a severe
fire of artillery and infantry, sheltered by Robinson’s house, standing
on the heights above the road leading to Bull Run. The charge was here
ordered, and the Second Maine and Third Connecticut regiments pressed
forward to the top of the hill, reached the buildings which were held by
the enemy, drove them out, and for a moment had them in possession. At
this point, finding the brigade under the fire of a strong force behind
breastworks, the order was given to march by the left flank, with a view
to turn the battery which the enemy had placed on the hill below the
point at which the Warrenton turnpike crosses Bull Run. The march was
conducted for a considerable distance below the Stone Bridge, causing
the enemy to retire, and giving Captain Alexander an opportunity to pass
the bridge, cut out the abatis which had been placed there, and prepare
the way for Schenck’s brigade and the two batteries to pass over. Before
this movement could be made on the enemy’s battery, it was placed in a
new position; but Colonel Keyes carried his brigade, by a flank
movement, around the base of the hill, and was on the point of ascending
it in time to get at the battery, when he discovered that the troops
were on the retreat, and that, unless a rapid movement to the rear was
made, he would be cut off. At this moment, the abatis near the Stone
Bridge had been cleared away by Captain Alexander, of the engineers, and
Schenck’s brigade (the third of Tyler’s division) was about to pass over
and join Keyes.
But one rash movement had decided the day—that movement the last change
of position given to Griffin’s battery, throwing it helpless into a
murderous fire, which no protecting force could encounter.
When the Zouaves broke on that fatal hill, the Union cause for that day
wavered. When hordes of fresh troops poured in upon the Union
battalions, beating back as brave regiments as ever trod the
battle-field, one after another, overwhelming them with numbers, and
driving them headlong into utter confusion, the battle was lost; and
after this any description of it must be wild and turbulent as the scene
itself—in no other way can a true picture of the tumultuous fighting and
more tumultuous retreat be truly given.
THE CLIMAX AND THE RETREAT.
We have described the battle of Manassas, Stone Bridge, or Bull Run, as
it is variously called, in its plain details, giving each regiment, so
far as possible, its share in the glorious fight; for up to mid-day and
after, no braver fighting was ever done than the Union troops performed
on that 21st of July. Now a wilder, more difficult, and very painful
effort taxes the pen. The heat, turmoil and terrible storm of death
rolls up in a tumultuous picture—troops in masses—stormy action—the
confused rush of men—all these things have no detail, but hurl the
writer forward, excited and unrestrained as the scene to be described.
At high noon the battle raged in its widest circumference. The batteries
on the distant hills began to pour their volleys on the Union troops
with terrible effect. Carlisle’s and Sherman’s batteries answered with
tremendous emphasis, while the great 32-pounder hurled its iron
thunderbolts first into one of the enemy’s defences, then into another,
tearing up everything as they went. The noise of the cannonading grew
deafening, and kept up one incessant roll. Compared to it the sharp
volleys of riflemen were like the rattle of hail amid the loud bursts of
a thunder tempest. The people of Centreville, Fairfax, Alexandria, and
even Washington, heard the fearful reverberations, and trembled at the
sound.
Five powerful batteries were in operation at once, joined to the hiss
and hurtle of twenty thousand small arms! No wonder the sky turned
black, impaled with death-smoke—no wonder the sun shone fierce and red
upon the pools of warm human blood that began to gather around those
batteries, where the slain were lying in heaps and winrows!
Still amid this roar and carnage, the Federal forces were making sure
headway, and driving the enemy before them. Except one brigade of
Tyler’s division, the entire force of eighteen thousand men was in
fierce action. As the Union forces pressed upon the enemy, approaching
each moment to the completion of their plan of battle, the rebels grew
desperate. The batteries on the western hills poured forth their iron
tempest with accumulated fury. The Union guns answered them with fiercer
thunder. The roar of the cannonading was deafening, drowning the volleys
of riflemen, and sweeping off in one overpowering sound the rattle and
crash of musketry. The clamor of the guns was appalling—the rush and
tumult of action more appalling still. The whole valley was like a vast
volcano, boiling over with dust and smoke. Through this turbid
atmosphere battalions charged each other and batteries poured their hot
breath on the air, making it denser than before. Now and then the dust
would roll away from the plain, and the smoke float off from the hills,
revealing a dash of cavalry across some open space, or a charge of
infantry up to a fortified point where the struggle, success, or
repulse, was lost or vaguely seen through volumes of rolling
smoke—columns of ruddy dust trailed after the infantry, broken now and
then by the fiery track of a battery masked in foliage. A sullen report,
and horrid gaps appeared in what a moment before was a living wall of
men. A curl of blue vapor rose gracefully from the trees, and it was
only the dead bodies blackening the ground that made the sight so awful.
But the fight gathered fiercest on the westward hill, from which the
booming thunder rolled in long incessant peals. Its sides swarmed with
armed men, changing positions, charging and retreating. Curtains of
smoke, swayed by the wind, revealed the horses around a battery,
rearing, plunging and falling headlong, dozens together, in one hideous
death. Then in mercy the smoke drifted over the hill again. The enemy
were giving ground at every point. The Mississippians had fled in dismay
from the batteries, and desperately taken to the field in wavering
columns. Other regiments were actually fleeing before the Union troops,
but they were generally moving with sullen steadiness to the rear. The
entire line which arrayed itself against Tyler in the morning had been
relinquished, except one fortified elevation. Still their peculiar mode
of warfare was kept up. Masked batteries were constantly opening in
unexpected places, leaving heaps of slain in the track of their fiery
hail.
On the uplands whole regiments, seen from the distance, seemed to drive
against or drift by each other, leaving beautiful curls and clouds of
smoke behind; but under this smoke lay so many dead bodies that the soul
grew faint in counting them.
Through all this the Federal troops progressed toward a union of their
attacking columns. Tyler had already spoken to McDowell, and the two
forces were drawing nearer and nearer together. Victory appeared so
certain that nothing but a junction of the two columns was wanting to a
glorious result, and this now seemed inevitable.
The clamor of the artillery was checked for a little time on both sides.
Red-handed death cannot rush panting on the track forever. Black-mouthed
guns will get too foul for belching fire, and the swarthy men who feed
them must have breathing time. As the fight flagged, and the men paused
to draw breath, their terrible suffering was apparent in the parched
lips that had tasted water but once through all that hot day, and the
bloodshot eyes with which each man seemed to beseech his comrade for
drink which no one had to give. Still, with dry lips and throats full of
dust, they talked over a thousand details of valor performed on the
field. They spoke sadly of the loss of brave Cameron, the wounding of
Hunter, the fall of Haggerty and Slocum, the doubtful fate of noble
young Wilcox. They discussed the impetuous dash and resolute stand of
the Irishmen, the murderous shock sustained by the Rhode Island
regiments, how the Hignlanders had done justice to their own warlike
traditions, and the Connecticut Third had crowned its State with honors.
They told how Heintzelman had stooped down from his war-horse to have
his wounded wrist bound up, refusing to dismount—of the intrepid
Burnside, and of Sprague, the patriotic young Governor, who led on the
forces his generosity had raised, to one victorious charge after
another, till with his own hands he spiked the Rhode Island guns when
compelled to leave them to the enemy.
So tranquil was the field during this short period of rest, that the
soldiers who had foreborne to throw their rations away in the march,
unslung their haversacks and sat down upon the grass to share the
contents with their less prudent companions; those who had been
fortunate enough to pick up the enemy’s haversacks, cast off in retreat,
added their contents to the scanty store.
While a few thus snatched a mouthful of food, others climbed up the tall
trees and took a triumphant view of the vast battle-field their valor
had conquered. The scene of carnage which it presented was awful. Dead
and dying men heaped together on the red earth, crippled horses
struggling desperately in their death-throes, wounded men lying
helplessly on the grass to which they had been dragged from under the
hoofs of the war-chargers—all this grouped where the angry waves of
battle had rolled down the beautiful valley, with its back-ground of
mountains, looking immovable and grandly tranquil against the sky, was a
picture which no man who saw it will ever forget.
The army, far advanced within the enemy’s defensive lines, believing
itself victorious, was thus falling into quiet. The great struggle of
the contending forces, each to outflank the other, had ceased. The
prestige of success belonged to the Union, whose stars and stripes shone
out triumphantly as the smoke which had engulfed the combatants rolled
away.
All at once those in the tree-tops saw a commotion in the far distance.
Columns of troops were moving toward them with flashing bayonets, and
Southern banners, unfurling the stars and bars to the sun. On they
came—rank after rank, column after column, one continuous stream of
armed men, pouring down upon the battle-field with bursts of music and
wild shouts of enthusiasm.
It was Johnston’s reinforcements, marching up from the railroad. On they
rushed, fresh, vigorous, and burning with ardor, through masses of
wounded soldiers that lay by the road. The infantry broke from the
double-quick to a swift run—the cavalry rode in on a sharp gallop—the
artillery wagons were encircled with men eager to get their ordnance in
place against the thrice-exhausted Union troops. In a continuous stream
these columns swarmed into the woods, the greater force centering around
the hill about which the storm of battle had raged fiercest.
In an instant the whole battle commenced again. The officers sprang to
their guns, anxious but not appalled. The men fell into rank ready for a
new onset, tired as they were.
Then it was that Griffin’s battery changed position, and the Fire
Zouaves coming up under a terrible fire, broke and scattered down the
hill-side, but rallied again in broken masses to rescue Rickett’s
battery, dragging the guns off with their own hands from amid the pile
of dying horses that lay around them. Then it was that the Sixty-ninth
and Seventy-ninth New York swept through the meadows from the north
across the road, and charged up the hill with such daring courage,
resisting the shock of battle fifteen minutes, and breaking only when
mortal valor could withstand the storm of bullets no longer.
Then the bold Connecticut regiments charged up the hill. Thousands of
the impetuous enemy fell upon them, but in spite of all they planted the
star-spangled banner and sent its folds sweeping out from the crest of
the hill. Not till this was done, and a long last shout sent ringing
after the banner, were these heroic regiments driven from their
position. But beaten back at last, they retired step by step, fighting
as they went.
Then the Zouaves broke into the fight once more, scattered on the
ground, some prostrate on their faces, others with limbs huddled
together as if dead—while many stood with their eyes to the sun, waiting
the onset of the Black Horse cavalry that came galloping upon them from
the woods. A few of these eccentric warriors were making a feint of
defending themselves while the cavalry stood hesitating on the margin of
the wood, but the rest seemed to have been cut down by the sweep of some
deadly cannonade, and lay in the grass like a flock of partridge shot
down in full flight.
Out from the woody cover the Black Hawks thundered on, their arms
flashing and the jetty necks of their horses flinging off the sunshine.
The handful of Zouaves now flocked together in front of their prostrate
comrades, seeming doubtful whether to fight or flee. On the black
chargers came, champing the bit and tossing their heads angrily, the
riders ready to trample the scattered Zouaves under hoof, as too easy a
conquest for their flashing swords. A sudden, sharp ringing yell, and
the dead Zouaves sprang to life, confronting the horsemen in a wall of
bristling steel. A sharp volley—the horses reared, plunged, and ran back
upon each other, some falling dead with quivering limbs as the fatal
bullets rent their vitals, and gushes of blood crimsoned their
coal-black chests; others staggering from a dozen wounds, rushed madly
through the broken ranks of the terrified cavalry.
Before the chargers could again be brought into line, the Zouaves flung
away their rifles, and sprang like tigers upon them. Seizing them by the
bit, they wound themselves up over their arched necks—a flash of
bowie-knives gleamed like chain-lightning across the ranks, and many a
wild black horse plunged on riderless with burning eyes, streaming mane,
and ringing empty stirrups, headlong through the already
half-disorganized ranks, and scouring over the battle-field, scattering
dismay as they went.