It was he, the “Great Silent One,” who had won the greatest and most momentous battle of modern times.

It had taken Frederick the Great seven long years to humble the pride of Austria; it took William the Victorious, with Moltke as his “battle-thinker,” but seven short days to achieve the same result. The Prussian soldier preferred to call the battle which he had just helped to win, Königgrätz, because this name sounded to his ears as but a pun on the words “Dem König geräth’s” (“The King will win”). But the King had only won by acting on the sage advice of his all-calculating Moltke, whose motto was “Erst wägen, dann wagen”—that is, “First weigh, then away!”

That war whereby the power of Spain was broken in South America, is known as the South American War of Independence. On the one side was the imperial power of Spain fighting for supremacy; on the other side were her colonists—creoles, American natives of Spanish blood—fighting for freedom.

The first pitched battle was fought in Mexico near Aculco, in 1810; the last, on the plain of Ayacucho, in Peru, on December 9th, 1824.

Venezuela, Colombia, and Ecuador had already thrown off the Spanish yoke when General Bolivar, towards the end of 1823, arrived with his victorious army in Peru. He was hailed as “The Deliverer,” and addressed the National Congress at Lima in these words:—

“The soldiers who have come from the Plate, the Maule, the Magdalena, and the Orinoco as the deliverers of Peru will not return to their native country till they are covered with laurels, till they can pass under triumphal arches, nor till they can carry off as trophies the standards of Castille. They will conquer and leave Peru free, or they will die. This I promise.”

These words spoken, it remained to make them actualities; and how this was done will form our story.

In June of the following year Bolivar took the field with 10,000 infantry and 2,000 cavalry. His cantonments were at Truxillo, and from there he began to move southwards to meet the enemy. The Spanish troops comprised 3,500 at Cuzco under the Viceroy of Peru, Laserna; 6,500 at Arequipa and Jauja under Canterac, and 1,000 away in the remote south under General Valdez, who was soon to be recalled to assist his companions in arms. The Spanish force nearest to Bolivar was thus General Canterac’s. This force was remarkably efficient and in the highest state of discipline. Its equipments were superior and complete; its artillery and cavalry particularly well appointed; and, what was not always the case with the liberating army, the troops were paid with the greatest regularity—a strong conducive to good discipline and order.

On August 2nd Bolivar reviewed his army on the tableland between Rancas and Pasco, a little north of Reyes, situated at an altitude of 12,000 feet above the level of the sea, and amid a scene as majestic as may be found in the world. On the west rose the Andes, while on the east, and stretching away to the Brazils were the sublime ramifications of the Cordilleras. Surrounded by natural displays of such magnitude, Bolivar’s army, composed of veterans who had fought in the Peninsular War, seen the conflagration of Moscow and the capitulation of Paris—as well as purely South American troops—looked a mere handful. Still it was enthusiastic, and the hills rang with “Vivas” at the termination of the General’s stirring address that was read simultaneously to each corps.

Meanwhile, Canterac, having united his forces at Jauja, was marching northwards to meet Bolivar. Between the two there lay a lake, and the patriot army marched south on the west side of this lake, while the Spanish army marched north on the east side. The result of this was to delay for four months the general engagement that was expected. Instead of the armies meeting face to face on the line of their march, only detachments entered into action on the plain of Junin, which lies to the south of the lake. It was purely a cavalry engagement, this—not a shot was fired; the lance and sabre alone were used. As it was, the Royalists were worsted, losing nineteen officers, 345 rank and file, and eighty prisoners. The Patriots lost only three officers and forty-two rank and file, with a few wounded. Canterac now fell back upon Cuzco, which he reached with less than 5,000 men, his ranks thinned mostly by heavy desertions. The Patriot army continued to advance towards Cuzco, falling in, however, with no enemy. In October, Bolivar, expecting no further engagements that year, left the army and set out for Lima to hasten forward reinforcements that were expected from Colombia. He gave instructions to his second in command, General Sucre, to go into cantonments at Andahuaylas and Abancay, and, as the rainy season was about to commence, to cease active hostilities for the time being.

Bolivar had not been gone three days, when General Sucre began to question in his own mind the wisdom of his superior officer’s instructions; so he called a council-of-war, at which, besides himself, were Generals La Mar, Lara, and Miller—the last, a distinguished British soldier. At this council-of-war it was agreed that if they did as Bolivar had commanded, and lay idle in their tents, the Spanish forces, recruited and united at Cuzco, would come upon them and annihilate them. The position was a delicate one, for obedience to a superior officer is a soldier’s first duty. Still, there was Valdez marching from the south to join Canterac and Laserna at Cuzco, and it was proposed to endeavour to intercept Valdez. Operations were thus entered upon in the face of Bolivar’s strict orders to the contrary, and these operations had the effect of drawing the enemy out of his stronghold.

Now followed two months of the most extraordinary manœuvring that ever preceded a battle. The Royalists, under the Viceroy Laserna, began to move in a westerly direction from Cuzco, and the Patriots to fall back. Twice the Patriot army offered battle, and twice it was refused. The Royalists, sure of success, sought to get behind the Patriots, thus cutting off their retreat and so annihilating them. At length, after several brushes—of which the most serious occurred in the Valley of Corpuguayco, where, besides losing their spare horses and some mules, the Patriots had 200 men killed, as against a death-roll of thirty on the other side—a position was reached which seemed to satisfy the requirements of both parties for the final grip. That position was on the plain of Ayacucho; and it is here that Bolivar’s address to the soldiers should have been delivered rather than on the eve of the affair of Junin: for it was here that the blow was struck that made the power of Spain in South America reel and totter to its fall.

The plain of Ayacucho is situated at an altitude of 11,000 feet above sea-level, in the Peruvian department of Ayacucho. It is square-shaped and about two or three miles in circuit. On its north and south sides it is flanked by deep and rugged ravines. On the west it descends gradually for a couple of leagues to what was then the high road to Lima, and which runs along the base of a lofty mountain range which rises like a wall. On this side was stationed the Patriot army, its retreat by this road cut off by detachments sent by the Spanish Viceroy to destroy the bridges and render the defiles impassable. On the east side the plain was terminated by the abrupt ridge of Condorkanki, and a little below the summit of this ridge the Royalist army bivouacked during the night preceding the fight. It was on the afternoon of the 8th of December that the respective armies reached these positions.

The eve of battle is worth describing. After the men on each side had been refreshed, and about two hours before sunset, a Spanish battalion of light infantry filed down into the plain and extended itself at the foot of the hill. A light infantry battalion of the Patriot army went forth to meet it. The opposing battalions, arrayed in extended files, engaged in skirmishing and performed evolutions to the sound of the bugle. The steadiness and behaviour of the men on each side were admired by the officers, and both parties agreed now and then to intervals of rest. During these intervals officers from the opposing sides approached one another and engaged in conversation. In the Patriot army was a Spaniard, Lieutenant-Colonel Tur, whose marriage to a beautiful woman of Lima had made him espouse the native cause. In the other army was his brother, Brigadier-General Tur, who sent a message to the former, saying how he regretted to see him, a Spaniard, in the ranks of rebels, and bearing arms against his king and country. “Yet,” the message continued, “you may rely upon my protection when the coming battle will have placed you at the mercy of the Loyalists.” The other brother was disposed to resent this message as an insult; still, they drew near to each other and ultimately embraced in view of both armies. When the shadows began to deepen across the plain, the different battalions retired to their quarters to waken to more serious work in the morning.

To waken, we have said. It is doubtful, however, if a single eye on Ayacucho were closed in slumber that night. All knew that they were about to engage in battle; none knew what the result might be, and whether this might not be his last night on earth. Both sides were wearied with the terrible marches and counter-marches, over mountains, down rocky defiles, and with the harassing watchfulness that had been continuously maintained. It was with the greatest difficulty that the officers of the Royalist army had kept their troops together. To prevent them from deserting, the different corps had habitually bivouacked in column, surrounded by sentinels, and outside of these again had been placed a circle of officers on constant duty. No soldier was allowed to pass the sentinels, who had strict orders to shoot down any one attempting to do so. Even detachments were not sent out for cattle and provisions, in case they should refuse to return; so the Royalists had been obliged to eat the flesh of horses, mules, and asses. These galling restraints the soldiers knew could be ended in only one way, and that was by a decisive engagement with the enemy. So eager were they thus rendered for the fray that they had begun to murmur against their leaders, and were loudly accusing them of cowardice in avoiding a conflict with the foe.

On the other side, the Patriots, too, were sick of manœuvring. They had been subject to constant harassing attacks from hostile Indians, who hurled stones down the mountain sides into their ranks while on the march, attacked detached parties, even made prisoners, whom they cruelly ill-treated. Again, their provisions were nigh exhausted, and so scarce had their horses become that many of the cavalry soldiers were mounted on mules. These matters, instead of improving, were with the progress of time only becoming worse. All, then, were anxious to have a termination put to the weary round of monotonous marching, with increasing exposure to dangers that from their continual presence had ceased to be exciting. Men so placed are not likely to sleep during the night preceding the day of battle. Besides, the distance between the two armies measured only a mile, and Sucre, fearing that the Royalists might descend from their heights to surprise them in the dark, kept his corps in close column ready for the attack. He also sent forward the bands of two battalions with a company to the foot of the ridge. These continued to play during the night while a sharp fire was kept up upon the Royalist outposts, the idea being to make believe that the Patriots were under arms waiting to join in fight. In this way a lieutenant-colonel and three men were killed in the Spanish camp by chance bullets, so near were the opposing armies.

Under Sucre were 5,780 men, and these were arranged on the plain in the following order:—

Bogota, Caracas, Voltigeros, and Pinchincha regiments, under General Cordova, on the right.

Hussars of Junin, Granaderos of Colombia, Hussars of Colombia, Granaderos of Buenos Ayres regiments, cavalry, under General Miller, in the centre.

Nos. 1, 2, and 3 Legions regiments, under General La Mar, on the left.

Bargas, Vencedores, Rifles regiments, under General Lara, in reserve.

Artillery: one 4-pounder in front, under Commandant La Fuente.

The Royalist army numbered 9,310, and was commanded by the Viceroy, Laserna. It was posted on Condorkanki—a division under General Valdez on the north side of the height or extreme right of the Royalists; next to him, and still on the Royalist right, a division of infantry under General Monet, in the centre cavalry, and on the left a division of infantry with seven pieces of artillery under General Villalobos. At dawn of day, an unperceived movement took place in the Royalist camp. The division under General Valdez, comprising four field-pieces, four battalions, and two squadrons of hussars, stole away to the north.

It was a chilly morning while the men were buckling on their armour, saddling their horses, examining their bayonets, and putting in order their various accoutrements. Amongst the things that the Colombia cavalryman had to do on mounting was the fixing of his bridle reins above his knees. By this means he guided his charger, and so had his hands left free to wield his heavy lance—a strong, tough sapling from twelve to fourteen feet long. The Patriot cavalry, let it be mentioned, were the finest horsemen in the world, drawn from the gauchos of the pampas, the guasos of Chili, and the llaneros of Colombia—all accustomed to ride from childhood.

Well, while such little details as we have mentioned were in progress, and the mounting sun had tempered the chilly air, the men on both sides were observed rubbing their hands and in other trifling ways showing the satisfaction which the nearness of the onset gave them.

At nine o’clock the first move forward began.

Then the division of infantry on the Royalist left under General Villalobos commenced to wind down the rugged side of Condorkanki. Laserna, the Viceroy, on foot, placed himself at the head of the descending files, and, obliquing to the left, led them into the plain. The other division of Royalist infantry, under General Monet, came down direct, while between these two divisions similarly descended the cavalry, the men leading their horses. As the different files reached the plain they silently formed into column. Meanwhile, General Sucre, of the Patriot army, rode along his line, and to each corps individually, in forcible words, recalled the achievements of the past. This done, he took up a position in the centre, and to his whole army in a loud voice, said: “Soldiers! Remember that upon the efforts of this day depends the fate of South America.”

Then began the forward movement of the Patriots, the division of infantry under General Cordova and two regiments of cavalry being ordered to advance. Cordova, in front of his division, now formed into four parallel columns with cavalry in the intervals, having gone a few steps, dismounted, and plunging his sword into his charger, exclaimed:

“There lies my last horse! I have no means of escape, and we must fight it out together.”

This display of spirit on the part of their leader roused the men to such enthusiasm that they became irresistible. They thought of the enemy, not as something to be feared, but only as something to be vanquished. The consequence was that, having discharged their muskets, and Cordova’s shout of “Onward, with the step of conquerors!” ringing in their ears, they pressed forward and crossed bayonets with the foe. For four minutes, which contained the work of hours, the two contending forces struggled, the mass swaying now this way and now that, so that it was impossible to tell which would give way. At an opportune moment the Colombian cavalry charged at full gallop, and with both hands free wielding their tough lances with such force that, their onset proved irresistible, and the Royalists lost ground. The vigour of the Patriots was only increased by this advantage, which they followed up with such effect that the Royalists were hopelessly driven back with terrible slaughter. Colonel Silva, who led the cavalry charge, had fallen, covered with wounds. Wounded now, too, and taken prisoner, was Laserna, the Viceroy himself—representative of the proud monarch of Spain. The routed Spaniards clambered up the rugged sides of Condorkanki, and the chasing Patriots deploying, fired upon the fugitives, whose lifeless bodies rolled down the height till stayed by jutting crags or bushes.

While the crags and bushes of Condorkanki are being thus bathed in Spanish blood, quite a different fortune is attending the Patriot arms on their left. As already mentioned, General Valdez, with four field-pieces, four battalions and two squadrons of cavalry, had stolen at dawn of day, unperceived by the Patriots, away northwards from the Spanish camp. The object of that manœuvre now became apparent. He had made a detour of several miles, and while the contest we have just witnessed was still in the balance, suddenly opened a heavy fire from his four field-pieces and a battalion in extended files upon the Patriot left. This obliged two battalions of General La Mar’s division, posted on the left, to fall back, and its retreat was not prevented by the battalion Bargas from General Lara’s division, which had been kept in reserve, sent to support it. Two of Valdez’s battalions had now crossed the ravine into the plain, and pressed at the double-quick upon the retiring Patriots. At this juncture General Miller, who held a portion of the Patriot cavalry in reserve, led the Hussars of Junin against the Spaniards, and drove them back across the ravine. This brilliant charge conducted by Miller saved the battle. La Mar’s division was thereby enabled to rally, and came to Miller’s support. The Patriots in this part of the field, animated by Cordova’s success against the Viceroy and the shouts of victory that were echoed back from Condorkanki, proved an easy match for Valdez’s now somewhat scattered forces, and the Spanish general, so famous for his marches and tactical skill, soon found his division broken, his artillery taken, his cavalry flying in disorder, and his infantry dispersed. The day was now lost and won in little more than an hour, and the vanquished Royalists flying in all directions.

Among the Hussars of Junin so effectively led by Miller at the critical moment, were twenty-five who, owing to the scarcity of horses, had no better steeds than baggage-mules. This was simply for display and to lead the enemy to think their cavalry numbered more than their horsemen actually did. These Hussars on mules were ordered to remain in the rear and not to take part in Miller’s charge. But they answered: “No; we will conquer or die with our comrades.” And their bravery was soon rewarded, for after the charge they were able to substitute good Spanish horses, whose riders had fallen, for their less nimble mules. Six weeks previously, when on a reconnoitring expedition towards Cuzco, General Miller had been surprised at a place called Chuquibamba, and his horse, which was the finest in the army, and which he had ridden at Junin, with an orderly, fell into the enemy’s hands. This horse was now seen amongst Valdez’s retreating troops. Its rider was immediately singled out for pursuit, cut down, and the horse restored to its old master. Another object of interest to the pursuing Patriots were the silver helmets of the Spanish Hussars. The landscape gleamed with these helmets wherever bodies of cavalry moved. These became so attractive to the enemy that many threw them off to stop the pursuit, and the gleam was quickly removed, the Patriots snatching them off and stowing them away in their valises.

At one o’clock on the day of the battle the divisions of the Patriot army, under Generals La Mar and Lara, reached the summit of Condorkanki. Here General Canterac was stationed, but before sunset he sued for terms of peace, and an hour later rode to General Sucre’s tent, where the terms were agreed to. By these terms Canterac, as supreme commander in Peru, agreed to surrender to the liberating army the whole of the territory possessed by Spain as far as the Desaguadero. So in effect ended the War of Independence, and so was extinguished the power of Spain across the seas.

The losses on that day, on the side of the vanquished, were 1,400 killed and 700 wounded. Amongst the captured, besides the Viceroy and generals, were 16 colonels, 68 lieutenant-colonels, 484 officers, and 3,200 rank and file. The victors won at a cost of 370 killed and 609 wounded. The battle of Ayacucho was regarded as the most brilliant ever fought in South America. The discipline of the troops, seasoned with years of fighting, was considered such as would have been creditable to the best European armies, while they were led by the ablest officers on both sides. Bravery was conspicuous on every hand, the victory being not a matter of chance, but of determination, fire, and valour.

Besides General Miller, who played so important a part in this action, other countrymen of ours were that day engaged fighting for the cause of Independence. Among them were Major-General Francis B. O’Connor, brother of Fergus O’Connor; Major-General James Whittle, Colonel William Ferguson, Lieutenant Martin, who was killed, Major-General Arthur Sand, Captain George Brown, wounded, Captain Henry Wyman, wounded, and Captain Miller Hallowes. These were chiefly officers in the Colombian battalion of Rifles, which was originally composed entirely of British subjects. During the long course of the war these had died or been killed, and the regiment was recruited from Colombian Indians, the officers, however, being still British. This regiment was the foremost in the fight amongst the troops that routed the divisions of Monet and Villalobos at the base of the Heights of Condorkanki.

Major-General Robert Patterson, sixty-nine years old, ripe with experience gained in at least two wars, but burdened it may be with more of the indecision and fears of old age than is the usual lot of man—seeing before him, in fact, bogey numbers of enemies—marched his army one day this way and the next day that; and frittering away the time, at length, instead of fighting, he allowed General Johnston and 9,000 Confederate soldiers to slip quietly away from him. The result was the result to be expected. General Johnston by a rapid march reached General Beauregard’s lines in time to turn the tide of battle in favour of the South, and the first decisive struggle of the American Civil War was scored to the credit of the Confederates.

Four o’clock on the morning of April 12th, 1861, the Civil War began. At that hour a shell fired from a battery on shore struck Fort Sumter, a tiny fort built on a mudbank in the very centre of Charleston harbour; and this shot opened hostilities that were destined to last for years. The next day, Saturday, the news reached Washington that Fort Sumter, in possession of a United States garrison, had been bombarded by Southern militia acting under instructions from the Governor of South Carolina. President Abraham Lincoln realised at once that the time for pacific negotiations had passed and the time for the employment of force had come. On Sunday he drew up his first proclamation relating to the war. It called for 75,000 militia to assemble under arms to “repossess the forts, places, and properties which have been seized from the Union.” In the two days which followed the issue of this call more than double the number of men asked for had volunteered for service. Every Free State in the Union responded with citizens eager to uphold the integrity of the Union. On the other hand, every Slave State insultingly refused her quota of the men required.

But ready and numberless as were the volunteers from the North, the resources of the States in the way of arms and ammunition, officers, and organisation, were utterly inadequate for the crisis. Although by many it had long been feared that the differences between the North and South were being accentuated to a dangerous degree, yet when the worst fears were realised and the actual outbreak of rebellion came, it took the country, as a country, completely by surprise. More than this, it caught those in authority unprepared. So it was that between the firing on Fort Sumter and the first great battle—Bull Run—three months elapsed. Those three months were spent in arming the volunteers—for the United States, then as now, had no standing army to speak of—in organising commissariat and other departments, transporting troops to various centres, and arranging the thousand and one details which, unless carefully attended to, would render the bravest army helpless.

But during the months of April, May, and June the absence of any organised body of opponents in the field allowed much telling work to be done by small parties of Southern soldiers. Unfortunately for the North, Washington, the capital of the Union, was to all intents and purposes within the sphere of Southern influence—on the one side the State of Virginia, among the first States to refuse troops to Abraham Lincoln, and on the other, Maryland, riotous and to all appearances likely to cast in her lot with the rebel States. Federal soldiers on their way to guard the capital were shot and trampled to death in the streets of Baltimore, Maryland, but a few miles north from Washington. On the same day the railway bridges of lines running northward were destroyed, thus completely cutting Washington off from the North. To complete the dangerous position of the capital, a force of Confederate soldiers seized Harper’s Ferry—the Harper’s Ferry of John Brown notoriety—then a famous national arsenal, and there established a Southern camp. Next the important navy yard at Gosport, after the officers in charge had attempted to destroy it by fire, was captured by Southerners; and a number of other important points bearing on the capital city falling into the hands of the Confederates, Washington was surrounded. The battle of Bull Run was brought on by the North with the intention of relieving the capital of the Union by dispersing the enemies that surrounded it.

Bull Run, the stream that gave its name to the battle, is a sluggish, uneven waterway running in a south-easterly direction, and at the point where the engagement took place some five-and-thirty miles from Washington. Its banks are steep and at some places rocky, with heights, densely wooded, on its western shore, and the stream itself deep and sullen, yet at points fordable. A short distance south of Bull Run is Manassas Junction—a railway junction—and here General Beauregard had his headquarters.

Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard, born in 1818, was a native of Louisiana, and passed through the United States Military Academy at West Point. Strangely enough, one of his class-mates at the Academy was the Federal general McDowell, who at this battle of Bull Run commanded the Northern forces. Beauregard had served through the Mexican campaign with distinction, taking part in the siege operations at Vera Cruz, and at Mexico he was twice wounded. To him fell the distinction of being chosen to open the war for the South, and it was he who bombarded and finally, captured Fort Sumter.

General Beauregard had assembled a strong force of Confederates at this point with the evident intention of marching upon Washington, but before he was ready to move on the capital, a large army of Northerners managed to reach the city, and Beauregard found his plans defeated. Consequently, he entrenched himself securely and waited for the time to arrive when, sufficient troops furnished him, he could carry out his plan to capture the capital. The position for encampment had been carefully chosen. Along the western bank of Bull Run, from Manassas Junction to a stone bridge some eight miles up stream, the Southern forces were posted, each ford strongly guarded, the rocky banks and the deep water forming a natural breastwork, and the dense woods a natural stockade. Across Bull Run, a few miles towards Washington, is the village of Centreville, and here the advance guards, or more properly, a scouting party, was stationed to give news of any movement that might be made by the North; and, central and convenient, the headquarters at Manassas commanded the whole.

Woods, stream, and rolling country made General Beauregard’s position a peculiarly strong one. In fact, as General McDowell, the commander of the forces of the North, soon found, the position was well-nigh invulnerable. To attack the Confederates in front, fording Bull Run, scaling the high bank and charging into a wood, was out of the question. Moreover, to strengthen Beauregard’s hands, General J. E. Johnston, a soldier of energy and experience, was stationed at Winchester, to which town he had retreated from Harper’s Ferry when he found himself confronted by General Patterson. General Patterson’s orders from Washington were to retake Harper’s Ferry from General Johnston. But the Southern general, fully convinced that Harper’s Ferry was of no strategical importance, and more of a trap than anything else, fell back at Patterson’s approach, and entrenched himself at Winchester. To the Federals the great danger lay in the risk of Johnston by a forced march joining Beauregard, and opposing a united force to McDowell. To prevent this, General Patterson’s second orders were to hold Johnston in Winchester. Patterson had plenty of men for the purpose, but failed to do what was expected of him. When the crucial moment arrived, Johnston arrived with it and ruined McDowell’s chance of victory.

McDowell marched from Washington. It had originally been General Scott’s intention to give the command of the Federal forces to Robert E. Lee; but that officer, destined to become the most famous general of the South, resigned his position, and journeying south, took charge of the raising of Confederate soldiers. McDowell, however, was an officer in every way competent to worthily represent the North.

A civil war makes strange opponents. Men hitherto the closest friends, found themselves divided, friends still, but facing one another on the field of battle, and fighting to the death for what each considered the right. This curious division affected officers and men alike. In fact, a large majority of the officers who, at the outbreak of hostilities found themselves in charge of the newly-enlisted regiments, had been educated together at West Point, and together received their baptism of fire and learned what real war meant under the sweltering sun of Mexico. General Irvin McDowell, as has been told, stood side by side with General Beauregard at West Point, and side by side with him on the battle-fields of Mexico. For some years he acted as assistant-instructor in infantry tactics in the Military Academy, and when war broke out he was relieved of his duties in the Adjutant-General’s Department at Washington, and placed in command of the Army of the Potomac, now on its way to Bull Run.

When he set out from Washington he carried with him full instructions and the confidence of all concerned. Never was a battle more carefully planned. Every move likely to take place had been canvassed and discussed, President Lincoln and General Scott giving their personal consideration and assistance to McDowell. When the latter marched away at the head of his 30,000 men, it was thought that he had nothing to do but to act quickly and victory must rest with him. General Sherman afterwards said that Bull Run was one of the best planned and one of the worst fought battles of the Civil War.

On July 16th McDowell issued his orders to march. J. G. Nicolay, who was private secretary to Lincoln, gives this as the organisation of McDowell’s army:—

“First Division, commanded by Tyler: an aggregate of 9,936 men, divided into four brigades, respectively under Keyes, Schenck, Sherman, and Richardson.

“Second Division, commanded by Hunter: an aggregate of 2,648 men, divided into two brigades, under Porter and Burnside.

“Third division, commanded by Heintzelman: an aggregate of 9,777 men, divided into three brigades, under Franklin, Wilcox, and Howard.

“Fourth Division, commanded by Runyon: an aggregate of 5,752 men; no brigade commanders.

“Fifth Division, commanded by Miles: an aggregate of 6,207 men, divided into two brigades, under Blenker and Davies.”

From these figures, it will be seen that McDowell marched with more than 34,000 men. But as Runyon’s division was left to guard communications, and as some days before the fight a number of the volunteers were mustered out, their three months’ time having expired, defections left the Federal general in command of something like 28,000 men to meet an equal or larger number of Confederates, entrenched, as we have seen, in a strong position, and fully prepared for a stubborn fight.

When the news flashed across the length and breadth of the great continent that at last a Northern army was to attack the South, the question on everybody’s lips was “How will the American fight?” McDowell, in his army of 30,000, had but 800 regulars—the rest were volunteers who had never been trained to war. Raw, inexperienced, undisciplined, gathered from the four corners of the continent: rugged bushmen from the backwoods of Michigan, rough and restless men, hunters born and bred every one, marching side by side with workers from the Pennsylvania mines and New York factory hands; carters from Philadelphia and Chicago, farmers from Ohio and Illinois, clerks from Buffalo and Boston, all untried and untrained, having volunteered for what the most of them looked upon as a jaunt and picnic in the South, with, maybe, a little shooting by the way—all trudged merrily along under the sweltering July sun, joking and playing pranks as they turned their faces to the South, and paying but small heed to their officers’ attempts to keep them in order. McDowell, writing of this march to Bull Run, tells many strange things. He says that the advance was rendered tediously slow by the “fooling” of the men on the march. “They stopped every moment to pick blackberries or to get water; they would not keep in rank, order as much as you pleased; when they came where water was fresh, they would pour the old water out of their canteens, and fill them with fresh water. They were not used to denying themselves much; they were not used to journeys on foot.” Before the long war was ended the troops became very used indeed to denying themselves much, and to weary journeys on foot.

On Thursday, July 18th, Tyler, commanding the first division, moved warily on Centreville, only to find that the Confederates stationed there showed no disposition to fight, but that they fell rapidly back towards Bull Run. This being so, on towards Bull Run Tyler continued his march, his orders being to carefully observe roads, positions, and lay of the land, but under no circumstances to engage in battle. He was to scout, to gather information for future use. But Tyler’s enthusiasm got the better of his discretion, and, it is feared, caused him to forget his orders. He had seen the Confederates retreat before him from Centreville, as though fearing to fight, and then a temptation was thrown in his way in the shape of a favourable position for a battery from which a few shells could be dropped on the enemy. He planted a battery, and fired on a Confederate battery still on the Centreville side of Bull Run. The Southerners retired to Blackburn’s Ford, and Tyler threw forward skirmishers against the Confederate skirmishers, and these getting into a hot exchange, Tyler was soon forced to bring forward a brigade, and then a second; and almost before he knew what was happening he found his battery and his men in a trap. Before he managed to bring away his battery and withdraw his men, he lost close upon a hundred killed, and his soldiers retired in confusion, the officers chagrined over the first serious check of the war.

But disastrous as was this the first skirmish of Bull Run to the Northern cause, it on the other hand exposed to General McDowell the position of the Confederates, and showed to him the hopelessness of an attack in front. McDowell’s first plan of battle, perfected at Washington, was to make a vigorous attack on Beauregard’s front, and when this action raged, to cross Bull Run lower down, and while the Confederates were concerned about the safety of their van to fall unexpectedly upon Beauregard’s right and turn it. A personal reconnaissance, made at the moment of Tyler’s unfortunate experiment, proved to McDowell that this plan could not be carried out. The ground on Beauregard’s right was totally unsuited to the job. High hills, densely wooded and strongly held, rendered the scheme clearly unfeasible. Some other plan must be devised. He rode to Centreville with all speed, and there Tyler and his officers reported rifle-its and strong barricades, natural and artificial, in front of every ford, the one bridge spanning the stream strongly guarded and prepared for blowing up if need be, and not the slightest chance of his untrained soldiers carrying the position. These reports convinced McDowell that only a demonstration must be made in front, and his whole energies applied to reaching the southern side of Bull Run, and fighting the battle across fields instead of across deep water. Richardson’s brigade was ordered forward to continue the menace at Blackburn’s Ford, and the engineers were sent up stream to survey Bull Run for a ford. But a ford they were unable to find until Saturday, and the battle of Bull Run could not be fought before Sunday, July 21st. A fatal delay this proved to be. News of Tyler’s engagement at Blackburn’s Ford on the Thursday reached Johnston at Winchester, and that energetic officer, seeing that a general action must soon take place, slipped away from the aged General Patterson, and by a forced march through Ashby’s Gap of the Blue Ridge, he took train at Piedmont and marched most of his men into Beauregard’s camp on Saturday evening. One of his companies, indeed, did not arrive until Sunday afternoon, when by falling upon the Federals’ right, it gave the first intimation to McDowell that Johnston had given Patterson the slip.

A close, hot night preceded the eventful day. A mist, such as is so often seen on sultry nights in America, hung over the valley of Bull Run, blurring everything into a grey, indistinguishable mass, notwithstanding that the moon shone brightly. Shortly after midnight the Northern army bestirred itself to begin the work that lay before it. Tyler’s orders were to get away early from Centreville and to commence a hot attack on the stone bridge, as if it were McDowell’s intent to force his way across the stream at that point. As soon as Tyler and his men cleared the camp at Centreville, Hunter and Heintzelman were to march rapidly to the ford which the engineers had located, cross, and at the topmost speed consistent with a good formation advance upon Beauregard’s left, fall upon the rear of the defenders of the stone bridge and clear them away, and so allow Tyler to cross and join forces. McDowell hoped in this way not only to disorganise the Confederate arrangements, but also to prevent any chance of Johnston from Winchester joining Beauregard. He had no idea that Johnston had already effected the juncture. The Northern men, new to war, turned but drowsily from their sleep. It was night, and, unused to the necessity of quick and silent action, the men delayed and refused to be hurried. Consequently, before Tyler had got his men out of the way of Hunter, the hour for moving had long since passed. Tyler intended to attack the stone bridge at four in the morning. It was not until six that he fired his first gun. Hunter and Heintzelman were proportionately delayed.

Strange to tell, it was Johnston’s intention to attack McDowell that very morning. This General Joseph Eggleston Johnston—Beauregard’s superior in rank, and an officer of energy, foresight, and initiative, fifty-four years old—besides having served through the war with Mexico, had seen much fighting with the Red Indians in many parts of America; and, as never were trickier fighters alive than the Red men, Johnston’s wits had been sharpened to a wonderful degree by his border experiences. He suffered desperate wounds at Cerro Gordo, and again at Chapultepec, was particularly active at Vera Cruz and in half-a-dozen battles in Mexico, and at the very outbreak of the Civil War captured Harper’s Ferry. In withdrawing his forces from Winchester to Bull Run—successfully outwitting General Patterson—he gave early proof of his skill in handling large bodies of men and readiness in rising to the occasion. He and Beauregard had planned on Saturday night to bring about a battle before it would be possible for General Patterson from Harper’s Ferry to join with McDowell, which, Johnston felt convinced, Patterson would hasten to do when he found that the Confederates had marched away from him. Johnston had already given the orders for an attack on McDowell, when the guns thundered out from the stone bridge. Instantly General Johnston countermanded the order to advance. As McDowell had begun the attack, it were better to fight the battle with all the advantages Bull Run gave to the South. He awaited developments.

Colonel Evans held the stone bridge for the Confederates. He had with him, behind the timber abattis, a regiment and a half and four guns; and when Tyler opened fire it seemed to him that a determined attempt would be made to force his position, and he prepared to hold it at all hazards. But after the fighting had lasted a short time, it occurred to Evans that the attack was conducted with nothing like the vigour he would have expected under the circumstances, and he cast about him for an explanation. An explanation was not long in coming. Scouts hurrying from the wood to his left told him that a large force of men had forded Bull Run some miles above the stone bridge and were marching to fall upon his rear. Without a moment’s hesitation, and waiting for no orders, Evans, leaving four companies with two guns to hold the bridge, posted the remainder of his men in as favourable a position to resist attack as he could come upon in the limited time at his disposal. When Hunter emerged from the wood, at ten o’clock in the morning, he found that his advance had been made known, and that there was now no chance of taking the Confederates by surprise.

First began an artillery duel. The sound of guns on his side of Bull Run told Johnston that the Federals had crossed the stream and had attacked his left. He hurried General Bee with four regiments and two companies to the support of Evans, already sorely pressed. Next Heintzelman, having now safely crossed the stream, came at the double-quick with a regiment to the assistance of Hunter, and joining forces, bore down upon the Southern lines. The front of battle at once changed from Bull Run stream to what had been the Confederates’ left.

And now began the battle proper. The men who, a few hours before had refused discipline and disregarded orders from whatever quarter given, at last, within shot of the enemy, faced the situation seriously and fought well. With now the advantage of position and numbers, the men from the North drove the Southerners steadily down the hill, the Confederates fighting every inch of the way with that fiery courage that distinguished them all through the war. Every fence, house, and wood, every hillock, every stone on the way, every hollow and every ditch, was made a standing-place by the South, and tenaciously held to as long as mortal could endure the hail of bullets and crash of cannon-ball. But the Federals fought splendidly, and carried position after position with the courage and dash of veterans. McDowell, coming upon the scene of action at this point, hurried word to Tyler to press his attack upon the stone bridge. This Tyler did not do, but instead, fording Bull Run a short distance above the bridge, came upon the rear of the defenders and swept them away from their stronghold. Then, marching towards the sound of the fighting, he safely joined his commander-in-chief. At noon McDowell had the satisfaction of knowing that not a hitch had taken place in his plans. The bridge had been cleared, the Confederates’ left turned, and his men had driven the enemy down the hillside, over a creek, across the valley, and up into a wood. The morning’s work was all the North could desire. Everything pointed to a Northern victory, full and complete.

Johnston and Beauregard now found a difficult task before them. Their men, numbers of them thinking all lost, were hurrying to the rear in dire confusion, throwing away their arms and accoutrements as they ran. Many companies were entirely disorganised, and others cut to pieces in the fight. But the two Southern generals, riding to the front, personally supervised the re-formation of the lines. On top of the hills up which the Confederates had been forced was a large plateau, thickly wooded, and on this plateau the generals checked the retreat, and swung their disorganised regiments into line. Early’s Brigade formed the left flank, and faced Wilcox and Porter, Elzey’s fronted Sherman, and Hampton lay nearest to Bull Run. The Confederate position for the renewal of the fight was clearly a strong one. Down in the valley lay the Federals. To reach the Southerners, they must charge up a hill and into a dense wood. This proved altogether too difficult a task. Sherman said afterwards that had McDowell ignored the partially defeated and strongly entrenched army of the South, and, instead of attempting to carry the plateau, marched around the hill and captured the enemy’s headquarters, Manassas Junction, the Southerners would have been defeated by the very act. But probably neither McDowell nor Sherman thought of this at the time. The order was to further rout the apparently routed, and the Federals dashed themselves to pieces in the attempt. When Johnston and Beauregard got their men ready, the latter took personal command, and Johnston—superior in rank—hastened to headquarters to superintend the whole.

The battle of the afternoon was a battle of hopeless confusion. No two on the Federal side could afterwards agree as to what had taken place. The want of cohesion, of discipline; the rawness of the troops, the ignorance and lack of executive ability on the part of the officers, added to the disadvantageous position, soon brought the army of the North into a state of helpless chaos. The Confederates, strongly situated, lay quietly in the wood firing grimly down the hill. When the Northerners were first ordered to charge, they did so with determination; but scarcely had they advanced a few hundred feet than they came under an appalling fire, volley after volley sweeping down the steep incline. Time after time the attempt to scale the height was made; and the right did at one time gain a footing, but to no purpose. It was a hopeless task from the first.