The morning of the 18th opened bright and sunny. To our rear was all bustle and commotion, and it looked like a vast camp of wagon trains. From the surrounding country all wagons had been called in from the foraging expeditions laden with provisions. Herds of cattle were corralled to secure the troops fresh beef, while the little fires scattered over the vast plains showed that the cooking details were not idle. General Beauregard had his headquarters on the hill in our rear.

At eight o'clock on the 18th, McDowell pushed his leading division forward at Blackburn's Ford, where two old comrades, but now facing each other as foes, General Tyler and General Longstreet, were to measure strength and generalship. The Washington Artillery, under Captain Richardson, of New Orleans, a famous battery throughout the war, which claims the distinction of firing the first gun at Bull Run and the last at Appomattox, was with Longstreet to aid him with their brass six-pounders.

The enemy advanced over the plain and up to the very bluff overlooking the stream, and a very short distance from where Longstreet's force lay, but the Washington Artillery had been raking the field all the while, from an eminence in the rear, while the infantry now began to fire in earnest. The elevated position gave the enemy great advantage, and at one time General Longstreet had to call up his reserves, but the advantageous assault was speedily repulsed as soon as the Southern troops became more calm and better accustomed to the fire and tension of the battlefield. Several assaults were made, one immediately after the other, but each time Southern valor overcame Northern discipline. From our position at Mitchell's Ford, we could hear the fierce, continual roll of the infantry fire, mingled with the deafening thunder of the cannon. Bonham was under a continual shelling from long range, by twenty pounders, some reaching as far in the rear as the wagon yard. After the fourth repulse, and Longstreet had his reserves well in hand, he felt himself strong enough to take the initiative. Plunging through the marshes and lagoons that bordered the stream, the troops crossed over and up the bluff, but when on the heights they met another advance of the enemy, who were soon sent scampering from the field. Then was first heard the famous "Rebel yell." The Confederates finding themselves victorious in this their first engagement, [59] gave vent to their feelings by uttering such a yell as suited each individual best, forming for all time the famous "Rebel Yell." Longstreet withdrew his forces to the east side, but a continual fusilade of artillery was kept up until night. Some of our soldiers visited the battlefield that night and next day, and brought in many trophies and mementoes of the day's fight, such as blankets, oilcloths, canteens, guns, etc.

CHAPTER V

At this point I will digress for the moment to relate an incident of [60] the Federal march, to show the brutal cowardice and baseness of the Federals in making war upon the non-combatants—women and children—and also the unyielding spirit and inflexible courage of our Southern people. Those dispositions were manifested on both sides throughout the whole war. It is unnecessary to say that feeling ran high on the border, as elsewhere, and everyone was anxious to display his colors in order to show to the world how his feelings ran. Confederate flags waved from many housetops along the border, and on the morning the Federals crossed the Potomac from Washington to Alexandria, many little pieces of bunting, displaying stars and bars, floated from the houses in that old sleeping city of Alexandria. Among that number was a violent Secessionist named Jackson. Colonel Ellsworth, commanding the New York Zouaves, the advance guard, ordered all flags with Confederate devices to be torn down by force. The soldiers thus engaged in the debasing acts of entering private dwellings, insulting the inmates with the vilest epithets, ruthlessly tore down the hated emblems of the South everywhere. When they came to Jackson's house they met the fiery defender of his home on the landing of the stairs, rifle in hand, who with determined air informed the Federal soldiers that whoever lowered his flag would meet instant death. Staggered and dazed by such a determined spirit, they lost no time in reporting the fact to Colonel Ellsworth. Enraged beyond all control by this cool impudence, Ellsworth rushed to Jackson's house, followed by a squad of soldiers. On reaching the landing he, too, met Jackson with his eyes flashing fire and determination, his whole frame trembling with the emotion he felt, his rifle cocked and to his shoulder, boldly declaring, "Whoever tears down that flag, dies in his tracks." Ellsworth and party thought this threat could not be real, and only Southern braggadocio. Brushing past the determined hero, Ellsworth snatched the hated flag from its fastening, but at that instant he fell dead at the feet of his adversary. The report of Jackson's rifle told too plainly that he had kept his word. The soldiers who had followed and witnessed the death of their commander, riddled the body of the Southern martyr with bullets, and not satisfied with his death, mutilated his body beyond recognition. Thus [61] fell the first martyr to Southern principles. The South never showed this disposition of hatred on any occasion, for in after years while marching through Pennsylvania Union flags floated unmolested from housetops, over towns, and cities. The soldiers only laughed and ridiculed the stars and stripes. The South feared no display of sentiment, neither did they insult women and non-combatants.

A like occurrence happened in New Orleans a few years later, where General Butler commanded, and gained the unenviable sobriquet of "Beast" by his war upon the women and those not engaged in the struggle, and by trampling upon every right and liberty sacred to the people. He had issued some degrading order, which the citizens were bound in pain of death to obey. One brave man, Mumford, refused, preferring death to obeying this humiliating order. For this he was torn from the embrace of his devoted family, and, in sight of his wife and children, placed in a wagon, forced to ride upon his own coffin, and in the public square was hanged like a felon.

General Johnston, with a portion of his troops, reached the field on the 20th, and his forces were placed in rear of those of Beauregard as reserves. On the night of the 20th, both opposing generals, by a strange coincidence, had formed plans of the battle for the next day, and both plans were identical. Beauregard determined to advance his right by echelon of brigades, commencing with Ewell at Union Mills, then Jones and Longstreet were to cross Bull Run, with Bonham as a pivot, and attack McDowell in flank and rear. This was the identical plan conceived and carried out by the enemy, but with little success, as events afterwards showed. The only difference was McDowell got his blow in first by pushing his advance columns forward up the Warrenton Road on our left, in the direction of the Stone Bridge. He attacked General Evans, who had the Fourth South Carolina and Wheat's Battalion of Louisiana Tigers, on guard at this point, with great energy and zeal. But under cover of a dense forest, he moved his main body of troops still higher up the Run, crossed at Sudley's Ford, and came down on Evans' rear. Fighting "Shanks Evans," as he was afterwards called, met this overwhelming force with stubborn resistance and a [62] reckless courage. The enemy from the opposite side of the Run was sending in a continued shower of shot and shell, which threatened the annihilation of the two little six-pounders and the handful of infantry that Evans had. But support soon reached him, the Brigade of Bee's coming up; still he was pressed back beyond a small stream in his rear. Bee, with his own and Bartow's Brigade, with a battery of artillery, were all soon engaged, but the whole column was forced back in the valley below. Jackson came upon the crest of the hill in their rear at this juncture, and on this column the demoralized troops were ordered to rally. It was here Jackson gained the name of "Stonewall," for Bee, to animate and reassure his own men, pointed to Jackson and said: "Look at Jackson, he stands like a stonewall." But the gallant South Carolinian who gave the illustrious chieftain the famous name of "Stonewall" did not live long enough to see the name applied, for in a short time he fell, pierced through with a shot, which proved fatal. Hampton, with his Legion, came like a whirlwind upon the field, and formed on the right, other batteries were brought into play, still the enemy pressed forward. Stone Bridge being uncovered, Tyler crossed his troops over, and joined those of Hunter and Heintzelman coming from Sudley's Ford. This united the three divisions of the enemy, and they made a vigorous and pressing assault upon the demoralized Confederates. The roar of the cannon became continuous, the earth trembled from this storm of battle, sulphurous smoke obscures the sky, the air vibrates with shrieking shot and shell, men rush madly to the charge. Our small six-pounders against their twelve and twenty-pounders, manned by the best artillerists at the North, was quite an uneven combat. Johnston and Beauregard had now come upon the field and aided in giving order and confidence to the troops now badly disorganized by the fury of the charge. The battle raged in all its fierceness; the infantry and artillery, by their roaring and thunder-like tone, gave one the impression of a continued, protracted electrical storm, and to those at a distance it sounded like "worlds at war." On the plateau between the Lewis House and the Henry House the battle raged fast and furious with all the varying fortunes of battle. Now victorious—now defeated—the enemy advances over hill, [63] across plateaus, to be met with stubborn resistance first, then driven flying from the field. Around the Henry House the battle was desperate and hand to hand. Here the Louisiana Battalion, under Major Wheat, immortalized itself by the fury of its assault. Again and again was the house taken and lost, retaken and lost again; the men, seeking cover, rushed up around and into it, only to be driven away by the storm of shot and shell sent hurling through it. Now our troops would be dislodged, but rallying they rushed again to the assault and retook it. Twelve o'clock came, and the battle was far from being decided. Bartow fell, then Bee. The wounded and dead lay strewn over the entire field from the Henry House to the bridge. Away to the left is seen the glitter of advancing bayonets, with flags waving, and the steady tread of long lines of soldiers marching through the open field. They are first thought to be the enemy, seeking to turn our left. Officers and men turned pale at the sight of the unexpected foe. Couriers were sent to Longstreet and Bonham to prepare to cover the retreat, for the day was now thought to be lost, and a retreat inevitable. The troops proved to be friends. Elzeys and Kirby Smith on the way from the Valley to Manassas, hearing the firing of the guns, left the cars and hurried to the scene of action. Cheer after cheer now rent the air, for relief was now at hand. They were put in on the left, but soon General Kirby Smith fell wounded, and had to be borne from the field. Other reinforcements were on the way to relieve the pressure that was convincing to the generals commanding, even, that the troops could not long endure. The Second and Eighth South Carolina Regiments, under the command of Colonels Kershaw and Cash, were taken from the line at Mitchell's Ford and hurried forward. When all the forces, were gotten well in hand, a general forward movement was made. But the enemy met it with a determined front. The shrieking and bursting of shells shook the very earth, while the constant roll of the infantry sounded like continual peals of heavy thunder. Here and there an explosion, like a volcanic eruption, told of a caisson being blown up by the bursting of a shell. The enemy graped the field right and left, and had a decided advantage in the forenoon when their long range twenty-pounders played [64] havoc with our advancing and retreating columns, while our small four and six-pounders could not reach their batteries. But in the after part of the day, when the contending forces were nearer together, Rickett's and Griffin's Batteries, the most celebrated at that time in the Northern Army, could not stand the precision and impetuosity of Kemper's, the Washington, Stannard's, Pendleton's, and Pelham's Batteries as they graped the field. The Second and Eighth South Carolina coming up at a double quick, joined Hampton's Legion, with Early, Cox, and the troops from the Valley just in time to be of eminent service at a critical moment. The clear clarion voice of Kershaw gave the command, "Forward!" and when repeated in the stentorian voice of Cash, the men knew what was expected of them, answered the call, and leaped to the front with a will. The enemy could no longer withstand the desperate onslaught of the Confederate Volunteers, and McDowell now began to interest himself with the doubtful problem of withdrawing his troops at this critical juncture. With the rugged banks of the deep, sluggish stream in his rear, and only a few places it could be crossed, with a long sheet of flame blazing out from the compact lines of the Confederates into the faces of his men, his position was perilous in the extreme. His troops must have been of like opinion, for the ranks began to waver, then break away, and soon they found themselves in full retreat. Kershaw, Cash, and Hampton pressed them hard towards Stone Bridge. A retreat at first now became a panic, then a rout. Men threw away their baggage, then their guns, all in a mad rush to put the stream between themselves and the dreaded "gray-backs." Cannon were abandoned, men mounted the horses and fled in wild disorder, trampling underfoot those who came between them and safety, while others limbered up their pieces and went at headlong speed, only to be upset or tangled in an unrecognizable mass on Stone Bridge. The South Carolinians pressed them to the very crossing, capturing prisoners and guns; among the latter was the enemy's celebrated "Long Tom." All semblance of order was now cast aside, each trying to leave his less fortunate neighbor in the rear. Plunging headlong down the precipitous banks of the Run, the terror-stricken soldiers pushed over and out in the woods and [65] the fields on the other side. The shells of our rifle and parrot guns accelerated their speed, and added to their demoralization by hissing and shrieking above their heads and bursting in the tree tops. Orders were sent to Generals Bonham, Longstreet, and Jones, who were holding the lower fords, to cross over and strike the flying fugitives in the rear near Centerville. Colonels Williams and Bacon, with their regiments, led by General Bonham, in person, crossed the stream at a double quick, and began the pursuit of the stampeded troops. When we reached the camps of the enemy, where they had bivouaced the night before, the scene beggared description. On either side of the road were piled as high as one could reach baggages of every description, which the men had discarded before going into action. Blankets rolled up, oilcloths, overcoats, tents, all of the very best material, piled up by the hundreds and thousands. Pots and camp kettles hung over fires, and from within came the savory smell of "rich viands with rare condiments," being prepared to appease the keen appetite of the battle-worn veterans after the day's victory. Great quarters of fresh beef hung temptingly from the limbs of the trees, wagons filled with arms and accoutrements, provisions, and army supplies, with not a few well-laden with all the delicacies, tid-bits, and rarest old wines that Washington could afford, to assuage the thirst of officers and the men of note. Many of the high dignitaries and officials from the Capitol had come out to witness the fight from afar, and enjoy the exciting scene of battle. They were now fleeing through the woods like men demented, or crouched behind trees, perfectly paralyzed with uncertainty and fright. One old citizen of the North, captured by the boys, gave much merriment by the antics he cut, being frightened out of his wits with the thought of being summarily dealt with by the soldiers. Some would punch him in the back with their bayonets, then another would give him a thrust as he turned to ask quarters of the first tormentor. The crisis was reached, however, when one of the soldiers, in a spirit of mischief, called for a rope to hang him; he thought himself lost, and through his tears he begged for mercy, pleaded for compassion, and promised atonement. General Bonham riding up at this juncture of the soldiers' sport, and seeing the abject fear of the old Northern Abolitionist, took pity and showed his sympathy [66] by telling the men to turn him loose, and not to interfere with non-combatants. He was told to run now, and if he kept the gait he started with through the woods, not many hours elapsed before he placed the placid waters of the Potomac between him and the blood-thirsty Rebels. Strict orders were given to "stay in ranks," but the sight of so much valuable plunder, and actual necessaries to the soldiers, was too much for the poorly provided Confederates; and not a few plucked from the pile a blanket, overcoat, canteen, or other article that his wants dictated. A joke the boys had on a major was that while riding along the line, waving his sword, giving orders not to molest the baggage, and crying out, "Stay in ranks, men, stay in ranks," then in an undertone he would call to his servant, "Get me another blanket, Harvy." The artillery that had been ordered to take part in the infantry's pursuit were just preparing to open fire upon the fleeing enemy, when by some unaccountable order, the pursuit was ordered to be abandoned. Had not this uncalled for order come at this juncture, it is not hard to conceive the results. The greater portion of the Federal Army would have been captured, for with the exception of General Sykes' Brigade of regulars and a battery of regular artillery, there was not an organization between our army and Washington City. All night long the roads through Centerville, and the next day all leading through Fairfax, Falls Church, and Anandale were one continual throng of fleeing fugitives. Guns and accoutrements, camp equipage, and ordnance strewed the sides of the road for miles; wagons, ambulances, cannon, and caissons had been abandoned, and terror-stricken animals galloped unbridled through the woods and fields. The great herds of cattle, now free from their keepers, went bellowing through the forest, seeking shelter in some secluded swamp.

At night, we were all very reluctantly ordered back to our old camp to talk, rejoice, and dream of the wonderful victory. Beauregard and Johnston had in this engagement of all arms 30,888, but 3,000 of Ewell's and part of Bonham's Brigade were not on the field on that day. The enemy had 50,000 and 117 cannon. Confederate loss in killed and wounded, 1,485. Federal loss in killed, wounded, and captured, [67] 4,500. There being no enemy in our front and little danger of surprise, the soldiers were allowed to roam at will over the battlefield the next few days. Almost the entire army availed themselves of this their first opportunity of visiting a real battlefield and witnessing the real horrors and carnage of which they had often read and seen pictures but had never seen in reality.

Who is it that has ever looked upon a battlefield and could forget the sickening scene, or obliterate from his mind the memory of its dreaded sight? It was recorded of the great Napoleon, by one of his most intimate friends and historians, that after every great battle the first thing he did the next day was to ride over the field, where lay the dead and wounded, and when he would come to those points where the battle had been desperate and the dead lay thickest, he would sit as in a trance, and with silence and meditation never witnessed on other occasions, view the ghastly corpses as they lay strewn over the field. The field of carnage had a fascinating power over him he could not resist, and on which his eyes delighted to feast. With a comrade I went to visit the field of Manassas. Passing over the uneven and partly wooded country, we witnessed all the effect of the enemy's rifled guns. Trees were cut down, great holes dug in the ground where shells had exploded, broken wagons, upset ambulances, wounded and dead horses lining the whole way. The first real scene of carnage was on the plateau of the Lewis house. Here the Virginians lying behind the crest of the hill as the enemy emerged from the woods on the other side, gave them such a volley as to cause a momentary repulse, but only to renew their attack with renewed vigor. The battle here was desperate. Major Wheat with his Louisianians fought around the Henry house with a ferocity hardly equalled by any troops during the war. Their peculiar uniform, large flowing trousers with blue and white stripes coming only to the knees, colored stockings, and a loose bodice, made quite a picturesque appearance and a good target for the enemy. These lay around the house and in front in almost arm's length of each other. This position had been taken and lost twice during the day. Beyond the house and down the declivity on the other side, the [68] enemy's dead told how destructive and deadly had been the Confederate fire. On the other plateau where Jackson had formed and where Bee and Bartow fell, the scene was sickening. There lay friend and foe face to face in the cold embrace of death. Only by the caps could one be distinguished from the other, for the ghouls of the battlefield had already been there to strip, rob, and plunder. Beyond the ravine to the left is where Hampton and his Legion fought, as well as the troops of Kirby Smith and Elzey, of Johnston's army, who had come upon the scene just in time to turn the tide of battle from defeat to victory. On the right of Hampton was the Eighth and Second South Carolina under Kershaw. From the Lewis house to the Stone Bridge the dead lay in every direction. The enemy in their precipitate flight gave the Confederates ample opportunity to slay at will. The effects of artillery here were dreadful. Rickett's Battery, the best in the North, had pushed their guns far in advance of the infantry, and swept the field with grape and canister. Here was a caisson blown up by a shell from Kemper's Battery, and the havoc was frightful. Six beautiful horses, all well caparisoned and still attached to the caisson, all stretched as they had fallen, without so much as a struggle. The drivers lay by the side of the horses, one poor fellow underneath and badly mutilated. To one side and near by lay the officer in command and his horse, the noble animal lying as he had died in the beautiful poise he must have been in when the fatal shot struck him. His hind legs straightened as if in the act of rearing, his forefeet in the air, one before the other, the whole looking more like a dismantled statue than the result of a battlefield. Fragments of shells, broken guns, knapsacks, and baggage were scattered over the plains. Details were busy gathering up the wounded and burying the dead. But from the looks of the field the task seemed difficult. In the little clusters of bushes, behind trees, in gullies, and in every conceivable place that seemed to offer shelter, lay the dead. What a shudder thrills the whole frame when you stand and contemplate the gruesome faces of the battle's dead. In every posture and all positions, with every conceivable shade of countenance, the glaring, glassy eyes meet you. Some lay as they fell, stretched full length on the ground; others show a desperate struggle for the last few [69] remaining breaths. There lay the beardless youth with a pleasant smile yet lingering on his face as though waiting for the maternal kiss; the cold stern features of the middle aged as he lay grasping his trusty rifle, some drawn up in a perfect knot of agony, others their faces prone upon the earth, all dead, dead. Great pools of blood here and there had saturated the earth, the victim perhaps crawling to a nearby shelter or some little glen, hoping to gain a mouthful of water to cool his parched lips, or perhaps some friendly hand had carried him away to a hospital. Few of our troops had been molested by the body snatchers of the battlefield, but the enemy had almost invariably been stripped of his outer clothing. On the incline of the far side of a little hill spots were pointed out where the gallant South Carolinian, Bee, had fallen, while rallying his men for the final assault, and also the brave Georgian, Colonel Bartow, in a like endeavor.

We came to the Henry house, on the opposite plateau from the Lewis house, the former at this time almost as noted as the little log hut at Waterloo that stood half a century before as a landmark to the fall of Napoleon. They were common, old fashioned frame houses, occupied by some poor people on this frightful day. The battle came with such suddeness and unexpectancy, the unfortunate inmates could not get away, and there throughout the bloody day these three Henry women had endured all the dread, excitement, and dangers of a great battle, and forced to remain between the opposing armies. The house was perfectly riddled with minnie balls, while great openings were torn in the side and roofs by the shells shattering through. There was no escape or place of safety. They stretched themselves at full length upon the floor, calmly awaiting death, while a perfect storm of shot and shell raged without and within. As we went in the house two women sat around the few mouldering embers that had answered the purpose of cooking a hasty meal. It was a single room house, with two beds, some cheap furniture, and a few cooking utensils. These were torn into fragments. In one corner lay the dead sister, who had been shot the day before, with a sheet thrown over to shield her from the gaze of the curious. The two sisters were eating a morsel unconcernedly, unconscious of the surroundings, while the house was crowded during the day with sight [70] seers and curious questioners. On the other side of the room were some wounded soldiers, carried in to be shielded from the rays of the July sun, while all without lay in heaps the mangled dead. The exceeding tension of excitement, fright, untold fear, that had been drawn around them during the continuous struggle of the day before, had rendered those women callous and indifferent to all surrounding appearance; but their haggard faces told but too plainly their mental anguish and bodily suffering of yesterday. The eyes tire of the sickening scene, and the mind turns from this revolting field of blood, and we return heartstricken to our camp. The poor crippled and deserted horses limp over the field nibbling a little bunch of grass left green in places after the day of mad galloping of horses. Everywhere we saw friends hunting friends. Relief corps had come up from Richmond and were working night and day relieving the suffering and moving the wounded away. Cars were run at short intervals from Manassas, carrying the disabled to Warrentown, Orange Court House, Culpepper, and Richmond. President Davis had come up just after the battle had gone in our favor, and the soldiers were delighted to get a glimpse at our illustrious chieftain. It was needless to say Beauregard's star was still in the ascendant.

CHAPTER VI

Much discussion has taken place since the rout at Manassas as to reasons for not following up the victory so gloriously won, and for not pushing on to Washington at once. It is enough to say the two commanders at the time and on the field saw difficulties and dangers sufficient in the way to rest on their spoils. The President, who was in council with them, after due consideration was convinced of the impracticability of a forward movement. In the first place, no preparation had been made for such an event; that the spoils were so out of proportion to their most sanguine expectations; that the [71] transportation for the troops had to be employed in its removal; that no thought of a forward movement or invasion had ever been contemplated; so there were no plans or specifications at hand. Then again, the dead and wounded of both armies had to be attended to, which crippled our medical department so as to render it powerless should another engagement take place. And again, a large portion of our people thought this total defeat of the enemy at the very outset of the war would render the design of coercion by force of arms impracticable. The South was conservative, and did not wish to inflame the minds of the people of the Union by entering their territory or destroying their capital. Knowing there was a large party at the North opposed to the war, some of our leaders had reason to think this shattering of their first grand army would so strengthen their feelings and party that the whole North would call for peace. They further hugged that fatal delusion to their breast, a delusion that eventually shattered the foundation of our government and betrayed the confidence of the troops, "foreign intervention." They reasoned that a great victory by the South would cause our government to be recognized by the foreign powers and the South given a footing as a distinct, separate, and independent nation among all other great nations of the earth. That the South would no longer be looked upon as an "Insurrectionary Faction," "Erring Sisters," or "Rebellious Children." Our ports had been ordered closed by the North, and an imaginary blockade, a nominal fleet, stood out in front of our harbors. Our people thought the world's desire for the South's cotton would so influence the commercial and laboring people of Europe that the powers would force the North to declare her blockade off. Such were some of the feelings and hopes of a large body of our troops, as well as the citizens of the country at large. But it all was a fallacy, a delusion, an ignis fatuus. The North was aroused to double her former fury, her energies renewed and strengthened, tensions drawn, her ardor largely increased, her feelings doubly embittered, and the whole spirit of the North on fire. Now the cry was in earnest, "On to Richmond," "Down with the rebellion," "Peace and unity." The Northern press was in a perfect blaze, the men wild with excitement, and every [72] art and device was resorted to to arouse the people to arms. The stain of defeat must now be wiped out; a stigma had been put upon the nation, her flag disgraced, her people dishonored. Large bounties were offered for volunteers, and the recruiting was earnest and energetic. Lincoln called for 300,000 more troops, and the same question was asked at the South, "Where will he get them and how pay them?"

We were moved out near Centerville, and a few days afterwards took up camp at Vienna, a small station on the Baltimore and Ohio railroad. The day after our arrival all of the troops, with the exception of the ordinary detail, were put to work tearing up the railroad track. It being Sunday, loud complaints were made against this desecration of the Lord's Day, but we were told there was no difference in days in times of war. The railroad was a good one and well built on a roadbed of gravel and chips of granite, with solid heart pine or chestnut ties, laid with "T" rails. The cross-ties were piled in heaps, on these were laid the rails, and all set on fire; then for miles and miles up and down the road the crackling flames, the black smoke twining around the trees and curling upward, shrouded the whole earth with a canopy of black and blue, and told of the destruction that was going on. Here the troops suffered as seldom during the war for provisions, especially breadstuff. Loud murmurings were heard on all sides against the commissary department, and the commissary complained of the Quartermaster for not furnishing transportation. The troops on one occasion here had to go three days and at hard work without one mouthful of bread, except what little they could buy or beg of the citizens of the thinly settled country. Meat was plentiful, but no bread, and any one who has ever felt the tortures of bread hunger may imagine the sufferings of the men. For want of bread the meats became nauseating and repulsive. The whole fault lay in having too many bosses and red tape in the Department at Richmond. By order of these officials, all commissary supplies, even gathered in sight of the camps, had to be first sent to Richmond and issued out only on requisitions to the head of the departments. The railroad facilities were bad, irregular, and blocked, while our wagons and teams were limited to one for each one hundred men for all purposes. General
[73] Beauregard, now second in command, and directly in command of the First Army Corps of the Army of the Potomac, of which our brigade formed a part, wishing to concentrate his troops, ordered all to Flint Hill, three miles west of Fairfax Court House. General Johnston, Commander-in-Chief, directed the movements of the whole army, but more directly the Second Army Corps, or the Army of the Shenandoah. The army up to this time had not been put into divisions, commanded by Major Generals, nor corps, by Lieutenant Generals, but the two commanders divided nominally the army into two corps, each commanded by a full General—Brigadier General Beauregard having been raised to the rank of full General the day after his signal victory at Manassas by President Davis.

In the Confederate Army the grades of the Generals were different to those in the United States Army. A brigade consisted of a number of regiments joined together as one body and commanded by a Brigadier General, the lowest in rank. Four, more or less, brigades constituted a division, commanded by a Major General. Three or four divisions constituted a corps, commanded by a Lieutenant General, and a separate army, as two or more corps, was commanded by a General, the highest in rank. Their rank is the same, but the Seniors are those whose commissions had been granted first, and take precedence where two are together. So it is with all officers in the army—age is not taken into consideration, but the date of commission. Where a brigade, from any cause, temporarily loses its commander, the Colonel with the oldest commission takes the command; where a division loses its Major General, the Senior Brigadier in that division immediately assumes command; and the same way in the corps and the army. The Major General takes command of the corps where its commander is absent, and in case of absence, either temporary or permanent, of the Commander-in-Chief of an army, the ranking Lieutenant General takes command until a full General relieves him. In no case can an officer of inferior rank command one of superior rank. Rank gives command whether ordered or not. In any case of absence, whether in battle, march, or camp, whenever an officer finds himself Senior in his organization, he is commander and so held without further orders.

The soldiers had rather a good time at Flint Hill, doing a little drilling and occasional picket duty out in the direction of Munson and Mason Hill. The Commanding General wished to advance his pickets to Munson Hill, a few miles from Washington, and to do this it was necessary to dislodge the enemy, who had possession there. The Second Regiment, under Colonel Kershaw, was sent out, and after a considerable brush he succeeded in driving the enemy away. After this one regiment at a time was sent out to do picket duty. When our South Carolina regiments would go out orders were given to be quiet, and during our stay at Mason and Munson Hill the utmost secrecy prevailed, but when Wheat's Louisiana Battalion had to relieve a regiment we could hear the beating of their drums, the loud shouts of the men on their way out, and all would rush to the side of the road to see the "tigers" pass. Down the road they would come, banners waving, the swinging step of the men keeping time to the shrill notes of the fife and the rattle of the drums. Their large flowing pants, their gaudy striped long hose, made quite an imposing spectacle. This was a noted band of men for a time, but their brave commander, Wheat, and almost all of his men, were killed in the battles that followed around Richmond. Major Wheat had been in the Turkish Army when that nation was at war with Russia, and in several other foreign wars, as well as the Mexican War. When his State seceded he returned to Louisiana and raised a battalion of the hardest set of men in New Orleans. The soldiers called them "wharf rats," "sailors," "longshoremen," "cutthroats," and "gutter snipes." They knew no subordination and defied law and military discipline. While in camp here several of them were shot at the stake. Major Wheat had asked to be allowed to manage his men as he saw best, and had a law unto himself. For some mutiny and insubordination he had several of them shot. Afterwards, when the soldiers heard a volley fired, the word would go out, "Wheat is having another tiger shot."

The fields were green with the great waving corn, just in roasting ears, and it was a sight to see hundreds of men in these fields early in the morning plucking the fine ears for breakfast. In most cases the owners had abandoned their fields and homes, taking what was movable [75] to other places in Virginia. What was left the soldiers were at liberty to "slay and eat." At first it was determined to protect the stock, but the soldiers agreed that what the Southern soldiers left the enemy would be sure to take. I remember the first theft I was engaged in during the war. I say "first" advisedly. Now soldiers have different views as to rights of property to that of the average citizen. What he finds that will add to his comfort or welfare, or his wants dictate, or a liability of the property falling into the hands of the enemy, he takes without compunction or disposition to rob—and more often he robs in a spirit of mischief. A few fine hogs had been left to roam at will through the fields by the refugee farmers, and orders were given not to kill or molest them, to eat as much corn as we wished, but to spare the hogs. When the regiments were sent on pickets, a detail was left in camp as guard, also to watch around the fields to prevent trespass. While our regiment was on its three days' picket, I was left as one of the detail to guard the camp. Some one reported a fine hog in the yard of a house some distance away. It was agreed to kill it, divide it up, and have a rare treat for the weary pickets when they returned. How to kill it without attracting the attention of the other guards was a question of importance, because the report of a rifle and the proverbial squeal of a hog would be sure to bring down upon us the guard. One of the men had a pistol, still we were afraid to trust this. A cellar door stood temptingly open. We tried to drive the hog into it, but with a hog's perverseness it refused to be driven, and after rushing around the yard several times with no results, it was decided to shoot it. The man claimed to be a good shot, and declared that no hog would squeal after being shot by him, but, as Burns says, "The best laid plans of mice and men aft' gang a glee." So with us. After shooting, the porker cut desperate antics, and set up a frightful noise, but the unexpected always happens, and the hog took refuge in the cellar, or rather the basement of the dwelling, to our great relief. We were proceeding finely, skinning away, the only method the soldiers had of cleaning a hog, when to our astonishment and dismay, in walked the much dreaded guard. Now there something peculiar about the soldier's idea of duty, the effects of military training, and the stern obedience to orders. The [76] first lesson he learns is obedience, and the longer in service the more convinced he is of its necessity. While he may break ranks, pass guards, rob roosts, or pilfer fruits and vegetables himself, yet put a gun in his hand, place him on duty, order him to guard or protect men or property, and his integrity in that respect is as unyielding, inflexible, and stern as if his life depended upon his faithful performance. The Roman soldiers' obedience to orders made them immortal, and their nation the greatest on earth. But to resume the thread of my story. When the guard came in we thought ourselves lost. To be punished for hog stealing, and it published at home, was more than our patriotism could stand. The guard questioned us about the killing, said it was against orders to fire a gun within range of camp, and furthermore against orders to molest private property. We tried to convince the guard that it was contraband, that the owners had left it, and to crown the argument, insisted that if we did not take the hog the Yankees would. This was the argument always last resorted to to ease conscience and evade the law. In this case, strange to say, it had its effect. After some parleying, it was agreed to share the booty equally between the guard and ourselves. They helped us cut brush and cover it nicely, and after tattoo all were to return and divide up. We did not know the guards personally, but knew their command. And so we returned to the camp to await the return of our pickets and night. It was soon noised in camp that there was a fine fat porker to be distributed after tattoo, and no little eagerness and inquisitiveness were manifested, as all wished a piece. Armed with a crocus-sack, we returned to the house; all was dark and still. We whistled the signal, but no answer. It was repeated, but still no reply. The guard had not come. Sitting down on the door step, we began our long wait. Moments passed into minutes, minutes into hours, until at last we began to have some forebodings and misgivings. Had we been betrayed? Would we be reported and our tents searched next day? Hardly; a soldier could not be so treacherous. We entered the cellar and began to fumble around without results, a match was struck, and to our unspeakable dismay not a vestige of hog remained. Stuck against the side of the wall was a piece of paper, on which was written: "No mercy for the hog rogue." Such swearing, such stamping [77] and beating the air with our fists, in imitation of the punishment that would be given the treacherous rascals if present; the atmosphere was perfectly sulphurous with the venom spit out against the foul party. Here was a true verification of the old adage, "Set a rogue to catch a rogue." Dejected and crestfallen, we returned to camp, but dared not tell of our misfortune, for fear of the jeers of our comrades.

Measles and jaundice began to scourge the camp; the green corn, it was said, did the army more damage than the enemy did in battle. Wagons and ambulances went out daily loaded with the sick; the hospitals were being crowded in Richmond and other cities; hotels, colleges, and churches were appropriated for hospital service, and the good people of Virginia can never be forgotten, nor amply rewarded for the self-sacrifices and aid rendered to the sick soldiers. Private houses were thrown open to the sick when their homes were far distant, or where they could not reach it. The soldier was never too dirty or ragged to be received into palatial homes; all found a ready welcome and the best attention.

Generals Johnston and Beauregard had now concentrated all their forces in supporting distance around Fairfax Court House, and were preparing for a movement across the Potomac. Bonham's Brigade was at Flint Hill, Cox's at Centerville, Jones's at Germantown, Hampton and Early on the Occoquon, the Louisiana Brigade at Bull Run, and Longstreet at Fairfax Court House. The troops were all in easy distance, and a gigantic plan of General Beauregard, with the doubtful approval of General Johnston and others, was for a formidable invasion of the North. General Johnston evinced that same disposition in military tactics that he followed during the war, "a purely defensive war." In none of his campaigns did he exhibit any desire to take advantage of the enemy by bold moves; his one idea seemed to be "defensive," and in that he was a genius—in retreat, his was a mastermind; in defense, masterly. In the end it may have proven the better policy to have remained on the defensive. But the quick, impulsive temperament of Beauregard was ever on the alert for some bold stroke or sudden attack upon the enemy's weaker points. His idea coincided with Longstreet's in this [78] particular, that the North, Kentucky, Tennessee, or Maryland should be the theatre of war and the battleground of the Confederacy. General Lee, according to the ideas of one of his most trusted lieutenants, was more in accordance with the views of General Johnston, that is, "the South should fight a defensive war"—and it was only when in the immediate presence of the enemy, or when he observed a weak point in his opponent, or a strategic move, that he could not resist the temptation to strike a blow. In several of his great battles it is reported of Lee that he intended to await the attack of the enemy, but could not control his impatience when the enemy began to press him; then all the fire of his warlike nature came to the surface, and he sprang upon his adversary with the ferocity of a wild beast. But Lee in battle was not the Lee in camp.

The middle of summer the two commanding Generals called President Davis to Fairfax Court House to enter a conference in regard to the projected invasion. The plans were all carefully laid before him. First a demonstration was to be made above Washington; then with the whole army cross below, strike Washington on the east, crush the enemy in their camps, march through Maryland, hoist the standard of revolt in that State, make a call for all Southern sympathizers to flock to their banners, and to overawe the North by this sudden onslaught. But President Davis turned a deaf ear to all such overtures; pleaded the want of transportation and the necessary equipment for invasion. It was the feeling of the South even at this late day that much could yet be done by diplomacy and mild measures; that a great body of the North could be won over by fears of a prolonged war; and the South did not wish to exasperate the more conservative element by any overt act. We all naturally looked for peace; we fully expected the war would end during the fall and winter, and it was not too much to say that many of our leaders hugged this delusion to their breast.

While in camp here an incident occurred which showed that the men had not yet fully recognized the importance of military restraint and discipline. It is well known that private broils or feuds of any kind are strictly forbidden by army regulations. The French manner of settling disputes or vindicating personal honor according to code [79] duello was not countenanced by our military laws; still the hot blood and fiery temper of the proud South Carolinians could brook no restraint at this time when an affront was given or his honor assailed. Captain Elbert Bland, of Edgefield, and Major Emett Seibles, both of the Seventh Regiment, were engaged in a friendly game of chess, a difference arose, then a dispute, hot words, and at last insult given that could not be recalled nor allowed to pass unnoticed. Challenge is offered and accepted, seconds appointed, pistols chosen; distance, twenty paces; time, sunrise next morning on a hillside near the outskirts of the camp. Early next morning a lone ambulance is seen moving out of camp, followed by two surgeons, then the principals with their seconds at a respectful distance. On reaching the spot chosen lots were cast for choice of stations. This fell to Captain Bland. The distance was measured with mechanical exactness, dueling pistols produced, each second loading that of his principal. The regular dueling pistol is a costly affair and of the very finest material. Long slim rifle barrel with hammer underneath, the stock finely chiseled and elaborately ornamented with silver or gold; the whole about ten inches in length and carrying a bullet of 22 calibre. The seconds took their places at an equal distance from each other and midway between the principals. Captain Bland takes his position at the west end of the field, and Major Seibles the east. Both stood confronting each other, not fierce nor glaring like two men roused in passion, or that either wished the blood of the other, but bold, calm, and defiant; an insult to be wiped out and honor to be sustained. They turned, facing the rear, hands down, with pistols in the right. The seconds call out in calm, deliberate tones: "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Then, "Ready, aim, fire!" "One, two, three, stop." The shooting must take place between the words "fire" and "stop," or during the count of one, two, three. If the principal fires before or after this command it is murder, and he is at once shot down by the second of his opponent. Or if in any case the principals fail to respond at the hour set, the second promptly takes his place. But no danger of such possibilities where two such men as Major Seibles and Captain Bland are interested. There was a matter at issue dearer than country, wife or child. It was honor, and a true South Carolinian of [80] the old stock would make any sacrifice, give or take life, to uphold his name unsullied or the honor of his family untarnished. As the word fire was given the opponents wheeled and two pistol shots rang out on the stillness of the morning. Captain Bland stands still erect, commanding and motionless as a statue. Major Seibles remains steady for a moment, then sways a little to the left, staggers and falls into the arms of his second and surgeon. A hasty examination is made. "Blood," calls out the second of Major Seibles. A nod of satisfaction is given and acknowledged by both seconds. Captain Bland retires on the arm of his friend, while the Major, now bleeding profusely from a wound in the chest, is lifted in the ambulance and carried to his tent. It was many months before Major Seibles was sufficiently recovered from his wound to return to duty. The matter was kept quiet and no action taken. Major Seibles died the following year, while the gallant Bland was killed at Chickamauga while leading as Colonel the Seventh Regiment in battle.

While at Flint Hill, another stirring scene took place of quite a different nature. In front of the Third Regiment was a beautiful stretch of road, and this was selected as a course for a race to be run between the horse of Captain Mitchell of the Louisiana Tigers and that of the Colonel of a Virginia regiment of cavalry. The troops now so long inactive, nothing to break the monotony between drills, guard duty, and picketing, waited with no little anxiety the coming of the day that was to test the metal of the little grey from the Pelican State and the sorrel from the Old Dominion. Word had gone out among all the troopers that a race was up, and all lovers of the sport came in groups, companies, and regiments to the place of rendezvous. Men seemed to come from everywhere, captains, colonels, and even generals graced the occasion with their presence. Never before in our army had so many distinguished individuals congregated for so trivial an occasion. There was Wheat, fat, clean shaven, and jolly, his every feature indicating the man he was—bold as a lion, fearless, full of life and frolic as a school boy, but who had seen war in almost every clime under the sun. There was Turner Ashby, his eyes flashing fire from under his shaggy eyebrows, his long black beard and flowing locks, looking more like a brigand than one of the most daring [81] cavaliers of the Confederate Army. Fitzhugh Lee, too, was there, with colonels, majors, and captains without number. Nothing seemed farther from the horizon of these jolly men than thoughts of the triumphs of war. Captain Mitchell's horse was more on the pony order than a racer, but it was said by those who knew that on more occasions than one the pony had thrown dirt into the eyes of the fastest horse in the Crescent City, and the Louisianans were betting on him to a man. The wiry sorrel was equally a favorite with the Virginians, while the South Carolinians were divided between the two. After a great amount of jockeying, usual on such occasions, judges were appointed, distance measured, horses and riders in their places, and hundreds of men stretched along the side of the road to witness the heated race. No little amount of Confederate money had been put upon the race, although it was understood to be merely a friendly one, and for amusement only. When the drum sounded, the two horses almost leaped into the air, and sped away like the wind, "little grey" shooting away from her larger adversary like a bullet, and came flying down the track like a streak, about a length ahead of the Virginia horse. The favorites on the Louisianan rent the air with their yells, hats went into the air, while the friends of the Virginian shouted like mad to the rider: "Let him out, let him out." When the distance was about half run he was "let out;" the rowels went into the side and the whip came down upon the flanks of the thoroughly aroused racer, and the Virginian began forging to the front, gaining at every leap. Now he is neck and neck, spur and whip are used without stint, he goes ahead and is leaving the "grey" far in the rear; Captain Mitchell is leaning far over on the withers of the faithful little pony, never sparing the whip for a moment, but all could see that he was running a losing race. When about the commencement of the last quarter the "grey" leaves the track, and off to the right he plunges through the trees, dashing headlong by the groups of men, till at last the Captain brings him up with one rein broken. A great crowd surround him, questioning, swearing, and jeering, but the Captain sat as silent, immovable, and inattentive as a statue, pointing to the broken rein. It had been cut with a knife. The Captain and his friends claimed that the friends of [82] the Virginian had, unnoticed by him, cut the leather to a bare thread, while the friends of the other party, with equal persistency, charged the Captain with cutting it himself. That when he saw the race lost, he reached over and cut the rein about six inches from the bit, thus throwing the horse out of the track and saving its credit, if not the money. No one ever knew how it happened, but that there had been a trick played and foul means employed were evident. A great many had lost their money, and their curses were loud and deep, while the winners went away as merry as "marriage bells."