There had been some very severe fighting on the part of King's division.
We approached the field from Manassas Junction, arriving about nine
o'clock. As we were riding through this division, the men called out,
"What regiment is that?" When we told them they arose and cheered us,
for we had been with them on a former occasion. Then, as we were
approaching the Centerville pike, Kilpatrick rode down the column
calling out, "General MacDowell wants the Harris Light to take a
battery." "Draw sabres." We drew sabres, put our cap bands under our
chins, and turned into the pike, then to the left, moving a short
distance, and then into a field, also on the left, forming in column of
squadrons. It was then too dark to see any distance ahead. My position
was within one or two of the flank of my company, where I heard
Kilpatrick order my squadron to go out into the road to charge this
battery, which we could not see. As we were not the last squadron in the
column, which happened to be Captain Seymour's, he said, "Never mind,
take the last one," which was fortunate for us. In a moment or two we
heard the clatter of the horses' hoofs on the pike, and then saw a
sheet of fire from the enemy's lines some distance ahead, which I
understood was on the edge of a piece of woods. This fire was also doing
damage to our columns exposed to it, when the order was given for us to
"wheel and retire," where we could get under cover.
From this unfortunate charge only eleven men came back that night. It
was said that they were subjected to not only the fire of the enemy but
also from our infantry on the right of the road, who, hearing the
clatter of the horses' hoofs, and unable to see what caused it, assumed
it to be a charge of the enemy's cavalry, when they also opened fire. It
was felt at the time that the ordering of this charge was a blunder, and
yet it was one of the many blunders from which our volunteer army
constantly suffered in the early years of the war. Kilpatrick was
severely criticised in the regiment for it that night and the next day;
little, however, was ever said about it in the reports. Whether
Kilpatrick acted under superior orders or on his own initiative, I never
learned.
A few minutes after the regiment had retired a short distance, Sergeant
Griswold came up and reported to Kilpatrick in my hearing that the enemy
were advancing their lines, that our wounded were being captured, and
that Lieutenant Compton of my company had been killed, and he showed
where a bullet had passed through the collar of his coat as he wheeled
when asked to surrender. Kilpatrick called for somebody to go with him
as an orderly, as he wanted to find General Bayard and General McDowell.
This I did, holding his horse while he was in conference with these
generals that night.
The next morning we recovered the body of Lieutenant Compton, of whom we
were very fond, and we succeeded in making a coffin out of three
cracker-boxes from which we took out the ends; wrapping him in a blanket
we buried him in this cracker-box coffin at the corner of the old stone
house on the Centerville Pike. His friends subsequently recovered his
remains. We all felt rather blue over the loss of comrades in the affair
of the night before, which had seemed to us so needless.
Among the pathetic incidents of that morning was one which indicated the
unselfish heroism of a young soldier. Early in the day some of our men
were looking over the battlefield of the night before for missing
comrades, and one, I remember, spoke of having found a young boy,
apparently not over eighteen years of age, lying with his shattered leg
in a pool of blood. My comrade spoke to him saying, "I will go and get
somebody to help carry you off," whereupon, the wounded boy faintly
remarked: "I do not think you can do me any good, but during the night I
heard groans coming from over the hill yonder, and I think if you go
there you may be able to save some one; but if you will give me a drink
of water I will be much obliged." The man gave his canteen to the
wounded boy and started off for help. On his return he found the boy,
with the canteen clasped in his hands, dead.
During the morning the armies were getting in position for the final
struggle of the afternoon of that day, which, I think, was the
thirty-first of August. Our regiment was lying in column of fours
awaiting orders. That afternoon, with a view to saving our horses from
the effect of shells dropping near us, Kilpatrick got permission to move
the column to the right a little, so as to be out of range. While we
were making this movement he happened to be riding alongside of me, I
being in the ranks, when a staff-officer approached and greeted him,
evidently some friend that he had known at West Point or in the regular
army. This officer leaned forward and said in an earnest manner, "Whose
cavalry is this?" Kilpatrick told him it was his. I then heard him say,
"General Porter," meaning Fitz-John Porter, "is fearful that there is
going to be a break. I wish you would deploy your cavalry in the rear of
our lines and do not allow a man to pass through unless he is wounded."
Whereupon Kilpatrick gave the order "By fours, left about wheel," and
moved the regiment left in front and then into line, with the men at
intervals in close skirmishing order. We no sooner had gotten into
line and advanced toward the woods in which Fitz-John Porter's corps
was, on the left of our army, than I heard the most terrific crashes of
artillery and then the rattle of musketry. This was Longstreet's corps
opening on us. In a few moments Porter's men came swarming out of the
woods. After them came the Confederates, with their batteries close up
with their infantry. Several times I saw our regiments rally, but they
were completely overpowered and swept away, resistance being apparently
impossible. It was this attack of Longstreet's with a superior force
which Porter had predicted and which General Pope had refused to believe
possible, which resulted in the crushing of the left of our army, and
the defeat of General Pope at the second battle of Bull Run.
[Illustration: MAJOR GENERAL JUDSON KILPATRICK]
Having overheard the anxious message of General Porter's staff-officer to
Colonel Kilpatrick, I assumed that it was my duty to carry out
instructions literally, that is, I tried to stop every man I could from
passing to the rear. When all our guns at that part of the field had
limbered up, except those of one regular battery, I met a squad of men
with a major making for the rear. I rode up and told them to go and lie
down beside this battery until I could get more men to act as a support.
He demurred, stating that it was no use, and at my remonstrating with
him, one of his men, an Irishman, spoke up and said, "Who the divil are
you to be talking that way to our officer?" However, the major and his
squad went with me and lay down alongside the battery, when I started
for another squad. I had gone but a few rods when the major got up and
went over the hill with his men. In the light of what I learned
afterwards, the major and those who had seen fighting on the Peninsula
had a better idea of the proper thing to do than I did with my boyish
inexperience; for that was no place for them to remain at that time.
I then discovered that my regiment had withdrawn. When I rode up to the
commander of this battery, as he was limbering up his guns to retire,
the enemy being almost up to him, and told him that I had been
instructed to keep back stragglers, and asked him what I had better do,
he smiled and replied, "The best thing you can do is to get out of
here." I then proposed to stay with him until I found General Bayard.
Pretty soon I met General Pope with his staff, and subsequently General
Bayard, who commanded our brigade. Riding up to the latter I asked him
if he knew where my regiment was. He turned and inquired where certain
members of his staff and orderlies were, and on being told that some had
had their horses shot, and reasons being given for the absence of
others, he said, "You stay with me." I then rode with him over to the
right, to the railroad cut, where Sigel's men had been fighting. I well
recall how angry General Bayard was, talking to himself and shaking his
fist, evidently in a rage at the bad management which had resulted in
the defeat of our army. About ten o'clock that night Major Henry E.
Davies of my regiment reported to General Bayard where the regiment was,
and asked for instructions. It was back somewhere on the Centerville
pike. I then asked the General if I might go back with Major Davies, as
my little gray horse had only one shoe on, to which he consented.
The next day the regiment marched to Alexandria and reached the hills
behind that town at night during a terrific rainstorm. I succeeded in
getting into a barn, where I slept soundly in my wet clothes until the
sun was up the following morning. I well remember the sensation when I
awoke and saw the dome of the Capitol at Washington in the distance.
Going into the town I got weighed in front of a sutler's tent, and, to
my surprise, I had gained five pounds since I had enlisted six weeks
before.