September 1. Evening. — About five o'clock this P. M. heavy
firing began in the old place — said to be near Centreville or at Bull Run. A
fierce rain-storm with thunder set in soon after, and for the last ten hours
there has been a roaring rivalry between the artillery of earth and heaven. It
is now dark, but an occasional gun can still be heard. The air trembles when
the great guns roar. The place of the firing indicates that our forces still
hold the same ground or nearly the same as before. It is queer. We really know
but little more of the fights of two or three days ago than you do; in the way
of accurate knowledge, perhaps less, for the telegraph may give you official
bulletins. We have seen some, a great many, of our wounded; some five or six
hundred of the enemy taken prisoners, and a few of our men paroled. Some think
we got the best of it, some otherwise. As yet I call it a tie.
I am very glad to be here. The scenes around us are
interesting, the events happening are most important. You can hardly imagine
the relief I feel on getting away from the petty warfare of western Virginia.
Four forts or field works are in sight, and many camps. The spire of Fairfax
Seminary (now a hospital), the flags on distant hills whose works are not
distinguishable, the white dome of the capitol, visible from the higher
elevations, many fine residences in sight — all make this seem a realization of
“the pride and pomp of glorious war.” The roar of heavy artillery, the moving
of army waggons, carriages, and ambulances with the wounded, marching troops,
and couriers hastening to and fro, fill up the scene. Don't think I am led to
forget the sad side of it, or the good cause at the foundation. I am thinking
now of the contrast between what is here and what I have looked on for fifteen
months past.
Dearest, what are you doing tonight? Thinking of me as you
put to sleep the pretty little favorite? Yes, that is it. And my thought in the
midst of all this is of you and the dear ones.
I just got an order that I must be “especially vigilant
tonight to guard against surprise, or confusion in case of alarm.” I don't know
what it indicates, but that I have done so often in the mountains that it is no
great trouble. So I go to warn the captains. — Good night, darling.
Ever yours most
lovingly,
R.
SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and
Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 337-8
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