retreat, so wild, so impetuous and reckless, that all organization was
given up. Regiments lost their officers, broke, mingled into others, and
rushed across the field a headlong torrent, which no human power could
arrest. On they went, plunging through the sea of carnage that
surrounded the hill—the surging, angry broken waves of a brave army
hurrying tumultuously from what had been a victorious field but an hour
before.
Down from the hills, broken into frightened masses, pallid, reeling with
exhaustion, they swept onward like a whirlwind, bearing the protesting
officers with them, or trampling them under foot; for human life was
nothing to them in that hot, mad race. The contagion of retreat spread
like a prairie fire, from one point of the battle-field to another,
scattering the army in wild confusion.
Still it was not quite a panic; two regiments, the Seventy-first New
York and Second Rhode Island, kept their ranks in all this confusion,
and were led in order from the field, over the road they had passed in
the morning. Other regiments were led off in a wild, scattered way, but
most of the great army was broken up, battalions and regiments surging
together, and dashing through each other, till they became one mighty
scene of confusion.
[Illustration:
THE ENEMY LARGELY REINFORCED—DESPERATE FIGHTING OF THE UNION TROOPS
AGAINST SUPERIOR NUMBERS.
]
The enemy pursued them in a broken, hesitating way, like men astonished
at their own success; wanting confidence, they did not venture in force
to follow the retreating army, but captured many of the scattered bands
dispersed over the wide field of conflict. One detachment of cavalry
charged on a helpless crowd of wounded, who were gathered near a
hospital building; when a handful of unorganized men, mostly civilians,
seized upon the first weapons at hand, and repelled it bravely.
Up to this time Schenck’s brigade had kept its position at Stone Bridge.
Captain Alexander, with his sappers and miners, had just cut through the
abatis by the side of the mined bridge, that Schenck might lead his
forces after those of Sherman and Keyes, when the torrent of retreat
rolled toward him; his protecting battery was taken, and a force of
cavalry and infantry came pouring into the road at the very spot where
the battle of the morning commenced.
The first battery attacked that day had been silenced, but not taken;
and there, in the woods which protected it, four hundred South
Carolinians had been concealed during the entire battle, to swarm out
now and fall upon the Union infantry in this most critical moment. A
sudden swoop of cavalry completed that unhappy day’s work. The Union
infantry broke ranks, and plunging into the woods fled up the hill. A
crowd of ambulances and army wagons had concentrated close to this spot,
and civilians, led to the field by curiosity, blocked up the ground. The
panic which had swept the battle-field seized on them. Kellogg of
Michigan, Washburne of Illinois, and it is said, Lovejoy of Illinois,
flung themselves in the midst of the fugitives, and entreated them to
make a stand. Ely, of New York, was taken prisoner in a rash effort to
restore confidence to the panic-stricken masses of men. But the maddened
crowd plunged on. The teamsters urged their frightened horses into a
headlong rush for the road; everything and everybody, brave or craven,
were swept forward by the irresistible human torrent. It was a stampede
which no power could check or resist. From the branch road the trains
attached to Hunter’s division had caught the contagion, and rushed into
the staggering masses, creating fresh dismay and wilder confusion.
It was a frightful scene, more terrible by far than the horrors of the
battle-field. Broken regiments, without leaders, filled the road, the
open fields, and skirted the fences, in one wild panic. Army wagons,
sutler’s teams and artillery caissons rushed together, running each
other down, and leaving the wrecks upon the road. Hacks were crushed
between heavy wagon wheels and their occupants flung to the ground.
Horses, wild with fright and maddened with wounds, galloped fiercely
through the crowd, rearing and plunging when the worn-out fugitives
attempted to seize them and save themselves from the destruction that
was threatened at every step.
Wounded men, who had found strength to stagger off the battle-field,
fell by the wayside, begging piteously to be taken up. Now and then a
kind fellow would mount a wounded soldier behind him, and give the horse
he had caught a double load; most of the poor fellows were brought
forward in this way. Sometimes a wounded man would be picked up by two
passing companions, and carried tenderly forward—for the sweet impulses
of humanity were not all lost in that wild retreat.
Then came the artillery—for much was saved—thundering through the
panic-stricken crowd, crushing everything as it went, dragged recklessly
along by horses wild as the men that urged them on. Rifles, bayonets,
pistols, blankets, haversacks and knapsacks were flung singly or in
heaps along the way. Devoured by intense thirst, black with powder,
famished and halting, these stricken men plunged into the fields,
searching for water. If a muddy pool presented itself, they staggered to
its brink with a pitiful laugh, and lying down on their faces, drank
greedily, then arose with tears in their eyes, thanking God for the
great luxury.
As they passed by the few houses on the road, women—God bless
them!—would come out, some with curt, but genuine hospitality, others
with tears streaming down their cheeks, and gave drink and food to the
wounded men as they halted by. Those who fell upon the wayside were
taken in and tended kindly till the next day. Boys came from the wells,
bearing pailsful of water, which their little sisters distributed to the
jaded men in their own tin cups.
But this panic, like all others, was of brief duration. When the
fugitives reached Centreville, they found Blenker’s brigade stretched
across the road ready to guard the retreat. Some of the fugitives
rallied and formed into line, but they had flung away their arms, and
the highway from Stone Bridge to Centreville was literally covered with
these cast-off weapons and munitions of war, hurled from the army wagons
by reckless teamsters. In places the road was blocked up by the wagons
themselves, from which the drivers had cut their teams loose and fled on
the relieved horses.
Blenker, of Miles’ division, whose duty up to this time had been one of
inaction at Centreville, now did good service at his important post.
With three regiments he kept the road, expecting every moment to be
assailed by an overpowering and victorious enemy, eager to complete his
fatal work. As the darkness increased, the peril of his position became
imminent. At eleven o’clock the attack came upon the advance company of
Colonel Stahel’s rifles, from a body of the enemy’s cavalry, which was,
however, driven back, and did not return. At this time Richardson and
Davies were both in Centreville with their brigades, which composed the
entire left wing, all well organized and under perfect command. These
troops were put under the command of Colonel Davies, who led them off
the field—Blenker’s brigade being the last to leave the town it had done
so much to protect.
The cause of this stupendous stampede no one ever has or can explain.
Cowardice it certainly was not. Those men had fought too bravely, and
suffered too patiently for that charge to be brought against them. They
were in fact victorious soldiers, for the rout of a single half hour,
disastrous as it proved, should have no power to blot out the deeds of
heroism that had marked the entire day. Was it excitement, acting on an
exhausted frame?
Let those answer who bore the flag of our Union through the long hours
of that July day, carried it under the hot sun through the fierce fight,
the dust and smoke and carnage, when the sky was one mosaic of flame,
and the earth groaned under the vibrations of artillery. They had
marched twelve miles fasting, and with but one draught of water; marched
without pause straight on to the battle field, and for nearly five hours
fought bravely as men ever fought on earth. Many who had food found no
time to eat it till the battle was at its close, but in the rash
eagerness for the field, these men, new to the necessities of war, had
flung their rations away, restive under the weight. They had started not
far from midnight, from camps in a tumult of preparation, and therefore
lacked sleep as well as food.
To all this was added THIRST—that hot, withering thirst, which burns
like lava in the throat, and drives a man mad with craving. Panting for
drink, their parched lips were blackened with gunpowder; and exhausted
nature, when she clamored for food, was answered by the bitter saltness
of cartridges ground between the soldiers’ teeth.
Think of these men, famished, sleepless, drinkless, after fighting
through the fiery noon of a hot day, suddenly overwhelmed in the midst
of a positive victory—called upon to fight another battle, while every
breath came pantingly, from thirst, and every nerve quivered with the
overtax of its natural strength. Think of them under the hoofs of the
Black Horse cavalry, and swept down by the very batteries that had been
their protection. Think of all this, and if men of military standing can
condemn them, war is a cruel master, and warriors hard critics.
It is very easy for civilians, who sit in luxurious parlors and sip cool
ices under the protection of the old flag, to sneer at this panic of
Bull Run, but many a brave man—braver than their critics, or they would
not have been in the ranks—was found even in the midst of that stampede.
What if all along the road were the marks of hurried flight—abandoned
teams, dead horses, wasted ammunition, coats, blankets? Were there not
dead and dying men there also? brave and hardy spirits, noble, generous
souls, crushed beneath the iron hoof of war—sacrificed and dying bravely
in retreat, as they had fought in the advance?
Never on this earth did the proud old American valor burn fiercer or
swell higher than on that day and field. And a reproach to the heroes
who left the impress of bravery, and gave up their lives on that red
valley, should never come from any true American heart.
THE BATTLE ON THE LEFT WING.
On the morning of the 21st, according to McDowell’s plan of battle, the
left wing, composed of Colonel Miles’ division, was stationed at
Centreville and at Blackburn’s Ford, the scene of Tyler’s disaster on
the 18th. Thus during the heat and struggle of that awful day the
greater portion of the left wing was six miles from the centre of
action. But notwithstanding, no better service was rendered to the
country on that day than that of this comparatively small handful of
men. The first brigade of this command, under Colonel Blenker, occupied
the heights of Centreville.
The second brigade, under Colonel Thomas A. Davies, of New York, and
Richardson’s brigade, were ordered by Colonel Miles to take position
before the batteries at Blackburn’s Ford, near the battle-ground of the
18th, to make demonstrations of attack. In pursuance of General
McDowell’s order, Colonel Davies, being ranking officer, took command of
Richardson’s brigade.
On his route from Centreville in the morning, when about half way to
Blackburn’s Ford, Colonel Davies, while conversing with the guide who
rode by him, saw a country road, apparently little used, leading through
the woods to the left. “That road,” said the guide, a fine, intelligent
fellow, “will give position farther left and nearer the enemy, for it
runs directly to Beauregard’s headquarters.”
Colonel Davies, who had graduated at West Point and served in the
Mexican war, was prompt to recognize the importance of a point which
might enable the enemy to move upon his rear. He ordered a halt, and
detailed the Thirty-first New York regiment, Colonel Pratt, and the
Thirty-second, Colonel Mathewson, with a detachment of artillery, to
guard the road at its junction, and deployed another regiment with a
section of artillery on the road, which was shaded and hedged in on both
sides by a heavy growth of timber.
This duty performed, the troops continued their march. Davies took his
position in a wheat field with what was left of his brigade, leaving
Richardson to make his own arrangements to defend the position in front
of the enemy’s batteries at Blackburn’s Ford, the battle-ground of the
18th. Richardson posted his command in this place, on the road from
Centreville heights to Blackburn’s Ford.
The wheat field which Davies occupied contained a hill which overlooked
a ravine, thickly wooded, on the opposite slope. On this hill Hunt’s
battery, commanded by Lieutenant Edwards, was placed, having been
exchanged from force of circumstances for Green’s battery, which
belonged to Davies’ command, but was now with Richardson. The battery
was supported by Davies’ own regiment, the Sixteenth New York, and the
Eighteenth, Colonel Jackson. This hill commanded a broad view of the
country on every side. The battle-ground of the right wing, six miles
off, was in full sight. Opposite his position, across the stream, was
the road which led from Bull Run to Manassas, and also to Beauregard’s
extreme right. Parallel with the river to his extreme left, it was
plainly traced, except where groves and clumps of trees concealed it.
This road, with all the high grounds sloping from Manassas, covered with
broken ridges, rich pasture lands and splendid groves, lay before the
men as they placed their battery.
On their rear the Centreville road stretched along a beautiful tract of
country, hidden by a waving sea of luxuriant foliage. Indeed all the
converging roads that threaded the vast battle-field were plainly
visible from that point.
Posted in this commanding position, Davies opened his demonstration with
two twenty-pound rifle guns from Hunt’s battery. The first shot hurled a
shell into Beauregard’s headquarters, which sent the rebels scattering
in every direction. Richardson also commenced firing across the Run,
producing the desired effect of keeping the enemy at their defences in
the neighborhood.
At ten o’clock Colonel Miles visited the command. Finding the two
regiments and artillery posted at the country road, he ordered the
regiments to move forward one-fourth of a mile, and the artillery to
join Davies’ command, leaving the road exposed. He then sent two
companies to reconnoitre the enemy’s position. They had a skirmish on
the stream, at Blackburn’s Ford, and came back with little damage.
The moment Miles rode back to Centreville, Davies ordered out his
brigade pioneer corps, all sturdy lumbermen of the North, with orders to
fell trees and block up the country road thus left exposed.
For two hours these sturdy men swung their axes among the heavy timber,
answering the distant roar of the battle-field with a wild, crashing
music, that broke with a new and more startling expression of war
through the familiar roll of cannon. With sharp, crashing groans, the
great trees were hurled to the earth, locked their splintered and broken
boughs across the road, and covered it with mangled foliage, forming a
barricade one-fourth of a mile long, impassable as a thousand cactus
hedges. The roar of cannon afar off, and the batteries belching iron
close by, failed to drown the groaning rush of these forest monarchs;
and when the near guns were silent for a little time, as often happened,
the almost human shiver of a tree, in its last poise before it rushed
downward with a wail in all its leaves and branches, conveyed an idea of
death more thrilling than any noise that battle-field had to give. At
twelve o’clock, just after the pioneers had returned to position, a body
of the enemy came down this road from Bull Run, intending to march on
Centreville and take Miles’ division in the rear. Clouds of red dust
rising from the trees betrayed them just as they had discovered the
barricade, and a storm of shell and shrapnel hastened their backward
march.
About this time the road on the other side of Bull Run was one cloud of
flying dust. It was Johnston’s forces, a close line, going up to snatch
victory from the brave army at Stone Bridge. The advance of these forces
became visible at first in tiny curls of dust rising from the woods.
Then it swelled into clouds, through which jaded horses and tired men
seemed struggling onward in a continued stream.
At this time the distant cannonading became louder and more continuous;
the far-off woods rolled up vast volumes of smoke, and where the battle
raged, a black canopy hung suspended in mid-air. How those brave men,
chained to their post by inevitable military law, panted to plunge into
that hot contest! The inaction forced upon them when a struggle of life
and death was going on in the distance, was worse than torture. They
suspected the character of those troops moving forward in the red cloud,
and followed them with eager, burning eyes. But they soon had work of
their own to do!
The firing on the right slackened between three and four o’clock,
growing fainter and fainter. About five, Colonel Davies received a line
from Richardson, saying: “_The army is in full retreat_;” but the line
was written in the haste and agitation of bad news, and was indistinct.
Davies read it: “The _enemy_ is in full retreat.” But for this
providential mistake, the battle of that day would have had a darker
record than we are making now; for the retreat, disastrous as it was,
would have been cut off, and Washington probably taken.
Believing the army victorious, these brave men bore the restraints of
their position more patiently, but still panted for a share in the work.
At this time Beauregard’s telegraph, opposite the left of Davies’
position, had been working half an hour; and from lines of dust
concentrating there and at Davies’ front, he anticipated an attack, and
made disposition accordingly.
At five o’clock, the enemy appeared on the left, as Davies formed in
line parallel to Bull Run, and about eight hundred yards distant.
Between the hill which he occupied, and the slope down which they came
from the road, was the valley or ravine, about four hundred yards from
Hunt’s battery.
They filed down the road and formed in the valley, marching four
abreast, with their guns at _right shoulder shift_, shining like a
ripple of diamonds in the sunshine, and moving forward in splendid
style.
At first Davies viewed them in silence, and standing still; but as the
column began to fill the valley, he changed front to the left, and
ordered the artillery to withhold its fire till the rear of the enemy’s
column presented itself, and directed the infantry to lie down on their
faces, and neither fire nor look up without orders. This was done that
the enemy might not learn his strength and charge on the battery.
The rear of the column at last presented itself, an officer on horseback
bringing it up. Then an order to fire was given, and Lieutenant
Benjamin, a brave young fellow from West Point, fired the first shot
from a twenty-pound rifled gun.
A cloud of dust, with a horse rearing, and its rider struggling in the
midst, was all the result that could be observed. The rear of the
enemy’s column then took the double-quick down the valley, and six
pieces of artillery opened on them. The effect was terrible; at the
distance of only four hundred yards, the enemy took the raking downward
fire in all its fury. An awful cry rang up from the valley; the men had
been swept down like wheat before a scythe, and their moans filled the
air.
This murderous fire was repeated over and over again. There was no
waiting to swab the guns, but, fast as powder and ball could be served,
the ordnance sent out its volleys. The enemy made a desperate stand, but
every shot swept down the men in masses. A vacant space appeared for a
moment, then fresh men filed in. Twice they attempted to reform and
charge the battery, but the rapidity with which the pieces were served,
and the peculiar nature of the ground, rendered every shot effective,
and they were swept back, cut down, speedily disorganized, and fled for
the woods.
During all this action, Lieutenant-Colonel Marsh, of the Sixteenth, and
Colonel Pratt, of the Thirty-first (the former since killed, and the
latter wounded before Richmond), controlled their men perfectly. Not an
infantry shot was fired during the engagement. Balls from the enemy
struck the ground in volleys before the men, filling their eyes with
dust. No man gave way; they were compelled to change position three
times during the fight. Although so many of the enemy were killed, this
spot being named, in the secession reports, as giving the heaviest
mortality of the day, only two men of Davies’ command were hurt. One man
was wounded, and Lieutenant Craig, a brave young officer from West
Point, was killed.
This brilliant engagement, so important in its results, sprang out of a
singular series of accidents: first, in the mistake made in reading
Richardson’s dispatch, and again in a failure of orders. When the main
army began its retreat past Centreville, at four o’clock, Colonel Miles
sent his aid, Captain Vincent, to order Davies and his command back to
Centreville, but Vincent, instead of coming first to Davies, stopped to
give orders to Richardson, and two regiments of Davies’ brigade,
stationed to guard his rear. After ordering Richardson back, Vincent
came over the ravine to deliver his orders to Davies, when he heard his
firing on the extreme left, went back to Centreville, to report, and
returned just as the firing ceased, to direct Colonel Davies to retire
on Centreville.
Davies, ignorant that Richardson had already fallen back, rode over to
order his retreat, but to his astonishment, almost horror, found that
the whole brigade, with two regiments of his own forces left to guard
his rear, had been gone a full hour. Thus it happened that this
important engagement had been fought and won with a single battery and
two regiments of infantry, utterly alone and unsupported on the deserted
battle-field, against a large body of men, endeavoring to sweep to the
rear and cut off the army in its retreat.
It was near six o’clock when this contest terminated—two hours after the
main army were in full retreat. If ever delay and accident were
providential on this earth, it was here; for brave as these men were, no
sane leader would have felt justified in exposing them to such peril
upon a deserted battle-field, and in the face of a whole victorious
army, after all chance of protection had been withdrawn.
When this band of victorious men reached Centreville, a stream of jaded,
wounded and heavy-hearted men were pouring through the village, while
General McDowell was making a desperate effort to collect all the troops
that still kept a show of organization, under his own command. These
troops were principally composed of the left wing, which came off the
ground in good order. McDowell, about eight o’clock, left Centreville
for Fairfax Court House. Before going Colonel Miles was relieved from
his command of the left wing, and the following order, written on the
back of a visiting card, was handed to Colonel Davies:
Colonel Davies is consigned to the command of the left wing, as the
troops are now formed. By command,
J. B. FRY, A. A. G.
_July 21._
Under this running order Colonel Davies assumed command of all that was
left of the army in Centreville, and marched them in good order to
Alexandria and Washington, Blenker’s division being the last to leave
the field. This gallant officer had been among the bravest and most
resolute in protecting the retreat, and had by his firmness held the
enemy in check during the afternoon and evening.
THE BATTLE-FIELD AT NIGHT.