MANASSAS AND FREDERICKSBURG.
Manassas.--The flying troops.--The unknown hero.--Desperate attempt
to stop the retreat.--Recruiting the decimated
ranks.--Fredericksburg.--Bravery of Meagher's brigade.--The
impregnable heights.--The cost of battles.--Death of
Bayard.--Outline of his life.
The plains of Manassas still speak to us. The smoke of battle that once
hung over them has long since rolled away, but the blood of over forty
thousand brave men of both North and South who here met, and fighting
fell to rise no more, consecrates the soil. Between them and us the
grass has grown green for many and many a summer, but it cannot hide the
memory of their glorious deeds. From this altar of sacrifice the incense
yet sweeps heavenward. The waters of Bull Run Creek swirl against their
banks as of old, and, to the heedless passer-by, utter nothing of the
despairing time when red carnage held awful sway, and counted its
victims by the thousand; yet, if one strays thitherward who can listen
to the mystic language of the waves, they will reword their burden of
death and of dark disaster which "followed fast and followed faster,"
and at last overtook the devoted Northern army, and made wild confusion
and wilder flight.
No general description of the battle need be given here. That portion
only which concerns the subject of this biography, now promoted to the
rank of Sergeant, will be set in the framework of these pages.
Concerning the part which he took in the action, and which occurred
under his own observation, he says:
"On the eventful thirtieth--it was August, 1862--our artillery occupied
the crest of a hill a short distance beyond Bull Run Creek, the cavalry
regiments under Bayard being stationed next, and the infantry drawn up
in line behind the cavalry.
"A short time before the battle opened, I was sent to a distant part of
the field to deliver an order. An ominous stillness pervaded the ranks.
The pickets as I passed them were silent, with faces firmly set towards
the front, and the shadow of coming battle hovered portentously, like a
cloud with veiled lightnings, over the Union lines.
"It was the calm which precedes a storm, and the thunderbolts of war
fell fast and heavy when the storm at length broke over our heads. I had
just taken my place in the cavalry ranks when a shell from the enemy's
guns whizzed over our heads with a long and spiteful shriek. One of the
horses attached to a caisson was in the path of the fiery missile, and
the next instant the animal's head was severed entirely from his neck.
The deathly silence was now broken, and more shot and shell followed in
quick succession, plowing through the startled air and falling with
destructive force among the Union troops. This iron hail from the guns
of the enemy was composed in part of old pieces of chain and broken iron
rails, as well as the shot and shell ordinarily used. Our artillery soon
replied, but from some unexplained cause the Union troops in this
portion of our line broke and fled in panic before a shot had been fired
from the muskets of the enemy. This battle, like the first Bull Run,
had been well planned, and every effort which good generalship and good
judgment could dictate in order to insure success, had been made by
Generals Pope and McDowell.
"At this crisis of affairs, the cavalry under Bayard and Kilpatrick were
ordered to the rear, to stem, if possible, the tide of retreat, but the
effort was well nigh fruitless. Regiment after regiment surged by in one
continuous and almost resistless wave. A cheer was heard to go up from
the Confederate ranks as Stuart's cavalry charged us, and though we
returned the charge it did not stop the panic which had taken possession
of our troops.
"One of its causes was undoubtedly the supposition that the enemy was
executing a flank movement on our left. In forty-five minutes from the
beginning of the battle, this part of the army was in full retreat; but
the determined stand made by Heintzelman, and also one or two heroic
attempts to stop the backward-surging wave, saved our forces from utter
rout and possible capture.
"As soon as the Union batteries were taken by the enemy, they were
turned upon us, in addition to their own guns, and afterwards, on came
Stuart in a head-long charge with one of those hideous yells peculiar to
the Southern 'chivalry.' With thousands of others who were rapidly
retiring, I had recrossed Bull Run Creek when my attention was arrested
by a mounted officer who sprang out from the mass of flying men, and
waving his sword above his head, called on every one, irrespective of
regiment, to rally around him and face the foe. He wore no golden
leaf--no silver star. He was appealing to officers higher in command
than himself, who, mixed with the crowd, were hurrying by. His manner,
tense with excitement, was strung up to the pitch of heroism, and his
presence was like an inspiration, as he stood outside the mass, a mark
for the bullets of the enemy.
"I halted, filled with admiration for so noble an example of valor, and
then rode rapidly towards him. Seeing me, he galloped forward to meet me
and asked my aid in making a stand against the enemy.
"'Sergeant,' said he, 'you are just in time. As you are mounted, you can
be of great service in rallying these men for a stand on this ground.'
"'Lieutenant,' I replied, 'they will not listen to the wearer of these
chevrons.'
"'Tear off your chevrons,' said this unknown hero,--'the infantry will
not know you from a field officer--and get as many men to turn their
muskets to the front as you can.'
"Lieutenant,' I responded, 'I will do all I can to help you,' and the
insignia of non-commissioned rank was immediately stripped from my
sleeves.
"I put myself under his command and fought with him until he gave the
order to retire. While he was talking with me he was at the same time
calling on the men to make a stand, telling them they could easily hold
the position. He seemed to take in the situation at a glance.
"The enemy having advanced to the first crest of hills, were throwing
their infantry forward with full force, and with the three thousand or
more of men who rallied around this heroic officer, a stand was made on
the rising ground north of Bull Run from which the advance of the enemy
was opposed. We held this position for half an hour, which gave
considerable time for reorganization.
"While riding along the line, helping my unknown superior as best I
could, my horse was shot--the first experience of this kind which had
befallen me.
"Just as the disaster was occurring which culminated in retreat, General
McDowell, on his white horse, galloped up to the guns behind which
Heintzelman was blazing destruction on the Confederates. Alighting from
his horse he sighted the guns and gave a personal superintendence to
this part of the action. An artillery captain, standing by his battery
while his horses were shot down, his pieces in part disabled, and the
infantry deserting him, shed tears in consequence.
"'You need not feel badly over this affair,' said the general, 'General
McDowell is responsible for this misfortune. Stand by your guns as long
as you can. If the general is blamed, _your_ bravery will be praised.'
"Was there a touch of irony in this remark which met in advance the
grumblings and questionings of the future? Was it the sarcasm of a man
who, having done his utmost, could not yet prevent disaster, and who
knew that an unthinking public sometimes measured loyalty by success?
"Later in the day our regiment--the 'Harris Light Cavalry'--lost a
squadron. Most of them were killed.
"In the deepening twilight we charged the enemy just as they were
forming for a similar attack on us. They were compelled to halt, and
Pope was thus enabled to discover their position and arrange for the
next day's defence.
"On the night of the thirtieth, the enemy occupied the battle-field and
buried the dead of both armies. And thus it was that Bull Run again ran
red with patriot blood and witnessed the retreat of the Union
battalions.
"By what strange fatality General Pope was allowed to struggle on alone
against an army twice the size of the Federal force, has not been
satisfactorily explained. One is almost tempted to believe, with
astrologists, that baleful stars sometimes preside with malign influence
over the destinies of battles, as they are said to do over individuals
and nations."
After the battle of Manassas, the Harris Light Cavalry was so reduced in
numbers that it was ordered into camp at Hall's Hill, near Washington,
with a view of recruiting its wasted strength and equipment. They
remained at that point until November, when they were again moved
forward to form the principal picket line along the front, prior to the
Federal disaster at Fredericksburg.
Burnside, having strongly secured the mountain passes in the
neighborhood, in order to conceal from Lee his real object, made a
_feint_ in the direction of Gordonsville; but the keen eye of the
Confederate generalissimo penetrated his true design and took measures
to defeat its accomplishment. Upon the eighth of this month, a lively
encounter between the Harris Light and a detachment of Confederate
cavalry resulted in the defeat of the latter, and soon after, the
regiment joined the main army.
As all know, the battle of Fredericksburg was fought and lost during the
three days intervening between the thirteenth and sixteenth of December.
Burnside's gallant army, in the midst of darkness, rain and tempestuous
wind, came reeling back from a conflict of terrible ferocity and
fatality. Six times in one day Meagher's gallant Irishmen were literally
hurled against Marye's Heights, a point of almost impregnable strength,
and which, even if carried, would still have exposed them to the
commanding fire of other and stronger Confederate positions.
Twenty times had charge and counter-charge swept the tide of battle to
and fro--at what terrible cost, the killed and wounded, strewing the
ground like leaves in the forest, made answer. Twelve thousand men lay
dead on the field when the battle ended, and one thousand prisoners were
taken, besides nine thousand stand of arms.
Although this battle seems to have been well planned by General
Burnside, a want of capacity to meet unforeseen emergencies doubtless
contributed to his defeat. He committed a fatal error at a critical
moment, by sending General Franklin an equivocal _recommendation_,
instead of an _order_ to attack the enemy in force. The enemy, however,
though having nobly held their ground, could not boast of having
advanced their lines by so much as a foot. There were, indeed, but few
even of the Confederate officers, who knew they had been victorious, and
the amazement of their army was beyond description when the gray dawn of
the fourteenth of December revealed the deserted camps of the Federals,
who had withdrawn their entire command during the night to the north
side of the river.
Had General Franklin brought his men into action, as he should have
done, at the critical moment when the issue of the fight was trembling
in the balance, the fortunes of this day would have terminated
differently. Had the splendid divisions of brave Phil. Kearney or
"Fighting Joe Hooker" been ordered into the arena, and lent the
inspiration of their presence to this hour of need, the scales of
victory would have turned in an opposite direction.
The "might have beens" always grow thickly on the soil of defeat.
Among the lamented dead of this day's havoc, no loss was more keenly
felt than that of Major-General George Dashiel Bayard. He was standing
among a group of officers around the trunk of an old tree, near the
headquarters of Generals Franklin and Smith, when the enemy suddenly
began to shell a battery near by, and one of the deadly missiles struck
this gallant leader. He was carried to the field-hospital, mortally
wounded.
Quietly turning to the surgeon who examined his ghastly wounds, he asked
"if there was any hope." On being informed that there was none, he
proceeded with undisturbed composure, and without a murmur of pain, to
dictate three letters. One of these was to his affianced bride. This
day, it was said, had been appointed for his wedding. The time-hands
marked the hour of eight when this letter was finished, and, as he
uttered its closing words, his spirit fled from the shattered body and
left it only cold and tenantless clay. He was but twenty-eight years of
age, of prepossessing appearance and manners, with as brave a soul as
ever defended the flag of the Union, and a capacity for military
usefulness equal to any man in the service. Gradually he had arisen
from one position of honor and responsibility to another, proving
himself tried and true in each promotion, while his cavalry comrades
especially were watching the developments of his growing power with
unabating enthusiasm.
Briefly, the outlines of his history are as follows:
He was born December eighteenth, 1835, at Seneca Falls, New York, from
whence, in 1842, he removed with his parents to Fairfield, Iowa. From
this place he went to the Dorris Military Institute at St. Louis,
Missouri, where he remained eighteen months.
The family then removed to the East, and settled at Morristown, New
Jersey. From Morristown, he entered West Point Academy. When twenty
years of age, he graduated with the highest honors, and, strange to say,
it was through the offices of Jefferson Davis, then Secretary of War,
that he was at once assigned to a cavalry regiment as second lieutenant.
His subsequent career, so full of brilliance and the true spirit of
heroism, is better known to the country.
Watered by the dews of hallowed remembrance, his fame, as a sweet
flower, still exhales its fragrance, and finds rich soil in the hearts
of the people.
"How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest?
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
* * * * *
"By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung,
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay.
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there."