From School to Battle-field: A Story of the War Days

  CHAPTER XIX.

  Back again through the starlit night, through dew-dripping aisles ofshrubbery, through dark, leafy groves, with the glint of the picket'srifle ever before his eyes, the cautious yet excited challenge fallingconstantly upon his alert ear, time and again had Snipe to dismount andaccount for himself before he reached the outposts along the pathway tothe north, and finally, after finding its junction with the wood roadalong which Upton had led the battalion at dusk, the lad came uponofficers and sentries who were obdurate. Oh, yes; they believed him tobe the young feller that twice had gone through the lines, once with themajor and Lieutenant Upton and once with prisoners; but now he wasalone, and how'd they know he wasn't going with information to theenemy, or going to be a deserter? Snipe argued and pleaded. Major Starkwas waiting for him away out toward Sudley Ford. General McDowellhimself and General Burnside told him he might rejoin his command. Thenwhy didn't they give him a pass through the lines? was the question. Thecountersign didn't amount to shucks out along the pickets, said they.Anybody could get the countersign,--which wasn't altogether anexaggeration,--and, well, he might be all right, and then again he mightbe all wrong. It was now nearly two o'clock, the hour Upton said theymight expect the head of column at the farm bridge, and Snipe, whoseheart was full of glory and elation an hour before, found himselfcompelled either to wait there or retrace his weary way past all thoseinner posts again to the now crowded turnpike.

  He chose the latter, and after an almost perilous ride, for more thanone raw sentinel took him for a rebel army and wanted to shoot, hereached the broad thoroughfare about a quarter of three, to find itstill blocked by troops of the same general who had made the mistakenmove on Blackburn's Ford, who was ordered to have his division on theroad to the stone bridge and well out of the way two hours before,--thesame fellows that "broke ranks at every blackberry-bush and spring andwell along the route from Washington," and before the first crash of theshells on Thursday afternoon. Now they seemed to be lost in the darknesswhen routed out at midnight, and not until long after the propertime--three hours at least--could the guns of Hunter's division get theroad; not until nearly dawn did they cross that old suspension bridgeacross Cub Run and then, turning to the right, march off into thefields along that guarded wood path. Not until broad daylight did thehead of column reach the farm bridge. Then, as the sun came up hot andstrong, and Snipe, after a long night in saddle, was able to rejoin hisanxiously waiting major, and Stark's battalion fell in once more withthe left wing of the New-Englanders and followed in the wake ofBurnside's Rhode Island battery, the long column moved on, snake-like,through fields wherein the dew too soon gave way to dust, and not untilnine o'clock, heated, weary, hungry, after nine hours of exasperatingdelays, of alternate halt and march, were the leading files plashingthrough Sudley Ford. There stood the little church, and this was Sundaymorning, and these silent, solemn fellows who came plodding up thesouthern bank on the trail of the gun-wheels were of the old Puritanstock, but there was no halt or time for worship. McDowell himself,commander of the army, had accompanied the turning column that by thislong, circuitous path had essayed to make safe crossing of Bull Run andbear down on the rebel left, while the rest of the army waited in frontof the stone bridge. Only twenty-eight thousand men all told, withtwenty-nine guns and a single battalion of cavalry, had the Uniongeneral with which to assault in their chosen position thirty-twothousand enthusiastic Southerners with fifty-seven guns.

  No wonder there was anxiety in the wearied eyes of the Union leaders, asat last the little division of General Hunter deployed in the fieldssouth of Sudley Ford and came cautiously feeling its way onward,Porter's brigade on the right of the road, Burnside's on the left, theRhode Island battery jogging along the dirt track and watching for achance to form forward into line. After the battery rode the grizzledold colonel of the New-Englanders, and after him trudged the long columnof his silent men; and with the left wing rode Major Stark, and ever athis heels rode Snipe. How slow seemed the advance! how tedious theincessant halts and waits while somebody reconnoitred! and at last,issuing from the woods, they saw before them a long ridge running eastand west between the road on which they were marching and the windingstream away off to the east, and out in the intervening open were two ofBurnside's regiments in line of battle, slowly moving southward, and onthe west side Porter's infantry was filing into the fields, and inregimental succession facing south and following the general move.Nearly a mile ahead, until lost behind that ridge, they could see thetrees and walls and fences bordering a straight line across their frontthat they knew must be the turnpike they had quit a mile or so west ofCentreville, and now, having left it behind them there, here they werefacing it again with four regiments, at least, in battle line parallelwith its general direction. Off to the right front it gently rose andwas lost among groves and trees. Directly ahead it dipped into a sort ofhollow where a little stream came purling out from the wooded uplandsfarther on. "Young's Branch, they call that," Snipe heard the major sayto Captain Flint. There were a few farm-houses and enclosures down nearthe crossing of the pike. Then the road they had been following could beseen red and dry rising toward the south, running straight away forManassas Junction, until it disappeared over the wooded crest anothermile beyond the pike. East of this road the ground rose abruptly to abroad open plateau, skirted east, southeast, and south by asemi-circular fringe of thick woods. At the edge of the plateau, andnear the bold, bluff-like slopes leading up to it, were two roomy housesof brick and stone, surrounded by fruit-trees and gardens,--one away upalmost overhanging the pike, the other well down to the south, closer tothe wood road they had been following from Sudley Springs,--the firstthe Robinson, the other the Henry house. From which of these were theysignalling last night? was the question that went from lip to lip.Eleven o'clock, and though there had been some sound of musketry downtoward the stone bridge, and the big thirty-pounder gun had let drive ashell or two into the woods, and there had been some popping of riflesamong the skirmishers well ahead, not a uniformed force of rebels hadthe New-Englanders seen, unless some scattering horsemen gallopingthrough distant lanes could be so regarded. Out in front of Burnside'sranks a long thin line of skirmishers was now making for the curtainingridge in front of the pike, and all on a sudden a pale blue smoke-cloud,like a long string of cotton wool, flew along that crest as though thecommand fire was given from the far right, and the nervous, waitingfingers pulled trigger as the order came, borne on the hot, sluggish,summer air. Snipe's heart gave a great leap as he saw the dust fly up ina hundred places just back of the distant skirmish line and theskirmishers themselves, with much alacrity, come sprinting back to theline, and then there was prodigious waving of swords and shouting oforders and galloping furiously about on part of field-officers who hadnever before smelled powder, much unnecessary exciting of their men,much whoop and hurrah on part of the advanced line, despite the effortsof the few veterans to set the example of calm and quiet. The instantthe skirmishers came ducking in out of the way the long battle lineopened a rattling fire upon the ridge, doing tremendous havoc along thehill-side, if one could judge by the rising dust, but finding nolodgment among its hidden defenders. Then a field-gun banged somewhereover east of the ridge, and a shell, whizzing overhead, burst with apuff and crash among the trees back of Burnside's reserve, and hundredsof men crouched instinctively and sprang back laughing loud andnervously. And then another gun, over by the pike, west of the ridge,barked angry challenge, and sent its shell whistling over among Porter'smen, and the battle lines broke anew into rattling, crashing fusillade,known as the "fire at will," and then, instead of pushing straightonward as they would be doing another year, the two brigades haltedshort and took to long-range shooting. Then Snipe saw the battery aheadof them beginning to joggle, and the next thing "Forward, double quick,"was repeated along the column, and off to the left front across thefields the snorting teams went galloping, the guns bounding, thecannoneers racing after them, and the adjutant came running back
afootto shout something to Major Stark, who still rode, grim and silent,along the advancing column. Up to this moment the only thing Snipe hadheard him say since the first volley was. "Steady, men. Keep quiet.Listen for orders." Now he turned round. "Ride back, Lawton; find theammunition-wagon and bring it up. It's the colonel's order."

  They are half across the field at the moment. The air is ringing withthe blare of battery bugles and the sputter of file-firing. Smoke isdrifting across the eager column of New-Englanders, and there are queerwhistlings on the wind as Snipe, digging spurs into his tired horse'sribs, whirls about and goes darting back to the Sudley road. But therehe has to draw rein. The narrow track is blocked. With set faces, butflashing eyes, a battalion of regulars is hastening forward. Then, withcracking whips and straining traces, strong, mettlesome horses prancingin the fulness of their strength and spirit, Griffin's West Pointbattery comes tearing through the lane. Wagons, either of ammunition orrations, or even ambulances, are cut off somewhere far to the rear. Ableonly to move at the trot, halted every now and then, and forced aside,sometimes even compelled by over-zealous officers to halt and explainwhy he is going to the rear, Snipe is full half an hour passing thebatteries and battalions of Heintzelman's division pressing forward intoaction. Well-nigh another half-hour is he in finding the needed wagonand compelling its reluctant negro drivers to whip their startled mulesout into the track. It is after one o'clock when at last he comesspurring out upon the open field again, and now, what a change in thepicture! General Hunter has been borne to the rear, wounded, but thethin line of the rebels has fallen back to the plateau beyond theRobinson place, the splendid regular batteries are far over on an openfield near the Dogan house, to the north of the turnpike, hurling shellupon the retiring rebel lines. Some of Burnside's command, still halted,are apparently repairing damages, but one regiment has gone on, and withtumultuous cheers the Union men are pressing up the slopes at both theRobinson and Henry houses, the New-Englanders somewhere with them.

  The road is blocked in front, the fields are strewn here and there withlittle groups hanging about prostrate soldiers, killed or wounded, andSnipe nibbles at a hardtack to still that queer feeling of faintnessthat again assails him when he recognizes among the pallid wounded alieutenant of his own company. Before he can find words to speak hehears the voice of the adjutant, and that young officer has ahandkerchief bound about his head and blood is trickling down his neck."Ride forward," he says. "The regiment is straight ahead over that firstridge, and the major needs his horse. Yonder lies the other. I'll bringup the wagon."

  There is a lull in the fight as Snipe goes riding along in rear of thebattle line, seeking the New-Englanders. Other brigades have crossed therun, and now the Fire Zouaves are marching in column toward the regularbatteries, and right at the edge of the pike Snipe finds his oldregiment, with Stark in rear of the right wing. Lieutenant-ColonelProctor is gone, shot dead, say the rearmost men, as they were crossingthe ridge behind them, though that, happily, turns out later to beuntrue. The major, however, has secured his late superior's horse, andgravely bids his orderly welcome with the other. Far over along thatsemicircular fringe of woods to the southeast an exultant chorus ofyells is rising, and a staff-officer, riding by, says something aboutthe rebs trying to keep their spirits up. But the dust is rolling inheavy clouds along the Manassas road, and the captured wounded, andprisoners overhauled during the triumphant forward movement of the Unionline, long delayed though it was, say that they are of Johnston's armyfrom the Shenandoah. Then all Beauregard's must be yet to come. Arethey the ones now doing all this cheering? Snipe, dismounted and holdingboth drooping horses, stands watching the faces of his gray-hairedcolonel and his beloved major, now in earnest, low-voiced conference,and it is plain to see, if not to hear, that the former is far fromsatisfied at the way things have gone. Over an hour passes withoutanother forward movement, although long columns continue arriving fromthe direction of the fords just above Bull Run, the fords discovered byGeneral Sherman. Many of the regiments right and left are tossing capsand hats in air, cheering like mad, and demanding the word to advanceand finish up the rebels. The steady cannonade of the Union guns hasbeen stopped. The batteries suddenly limber up and move deliberately outupon the pike, then turn southward into that road leading towardManassas, and next are seen breasting the slopes to their left, marchingup the height, Ricketts well in front, Griffin some distance in rear,and when they disappear over the edge of the plateau south of the Henryhouse, the Zouaves and some other regiment following rather slowly insupport, the colonel ventures to say that those batteries will be inmischief before they are quarter of an hour older. Twenty minutes moreand they are heard again, reopening in fury upon the enemy unseen by thehalted battalions here under the Robinson bluff. And now it is aftertwo, long after, and brigades from Tyler's first division, fording therun above the stone bridge, are strengthening the attack. Sherman,Howard, Wilcox, all are there. Victory seems assured if only the linemay advance, crown those heights, sweep the plateau where now thebatteries stand almost alone, and drive the yelling rebels from thewoods. A dense smoke-cloud rises over the thundering guns. Who canwithstand so fierce a cannonade? Snipe, too, wants to toss his cap inair and cheer, but the anxiety in his colonel's face forbids. Thickergrows that shrouding smoke-cloud, heavier the thunder, but louder,clearer, and nearer the crash of musketry, the chorus of exultant yells.Surely there should be an infantry division, at least, to line thatcrest and support those guns, say veteran soldiers, and all too late theorder comes. Out from the woods to the right of the twin batteriesissues a long, well-ordered line of troops, commanded by a general whoknows his trade. Straight, swift, and silent, in through the hangingsmoke, he drives them. Instantly at sight of them the nearest batterycommander whirls his muzzles around to deluge them with canister.Instantly from his misguided senior comes the order, "Don't fire. Thoseare our friends." Quick the reply, "They are Confederates! As sure asthe world, they are Confederates!" But Griffin, certain as he is, canbut obey when Barry sternly says, "They are our own supports. You mustnot fire!" Already half of Ricketts's horses and many of his men aredown when that menacing line suddenly halts, aims, and at short rangepours in one fearful volley that rips through the batteries like a flashof lightning. Down go dozens more,--officers, gunners, drivers,cannoneers, horses,--and then, in wild panic, what are left of the poor,affrighted beasts turn short about, and, snorting with terror, despiteevery effort of the drivers, come tearing down the slopes, limbers andcaissons bounding after them, straight through the ranks of the startledsupports; the precious, priceless guns, the stricken wounded, the heroicdead, the gallant officers, abandoned to their fate. Brave as they werein face of fire at home, this was something the Zouaves had neverdreamed of. No Ellsworth raged among them now, holding them to theirduty. One wild volley they fire, mostly in the air, and down, too, theycome, streaming like sheep along the hill-side, leaping the stone walland scattering for shelter. The panic of Bull Run has begun. Down amongthe scary mules of the wagons tear the riderless battery horses, andaway go darky drivers, mules, and all. Vain the dash of generals to thefront, ordering regiments and brigades to charge and retake the guns,now being dragged to the woods. The rebel lines are mad with joy, drunkwith triumph, invincible against the half-hearted assaults that follow.No longer is there any concerted effort on the Northern side. Some Unionregiments, indeed, charge home, only to find themselves isolated,abandoned right and left by less disciplined comrades. Twice theNew-Englanders breast that fire-flashing slope, their gray-haired oldcolonel cheering them on. Twice they come drifting back, bringing theirscores of wounded with them; but when, at last, with tears coursing downhis powder-blackened cheeks, Burnside tells them all is over, and tofollow the retreat, it is the old Covenanter, Flint, who leads theremnant from the field. Their colonel, limp and senseless from loss ofblood, is borne away on the muskets of a squad of wearied men. Themajor, pinned under his dying horse close to the Henry house, issurrounded by a throng of rebels when th
e right gives way. If not dead,he and Snipe are prisoners, for the last seen of the youngster he istrying to drag the major out and get him on another horse, even whilethe rebels are swarming all about them.