Centreville, July 22,1861.
My Dear —: — For
the last four days we have never been longer than two hours in any one place,
have slept upon the ground in good weather and bad, eaten nothing but crackers
and fried bacon, and rested little at any time; for all of which privations and
a thousand others we have been more than compensated (thanks to the just God
who governs the councils of history and decrees the destiny of nations) in the
glorious results of yesterday. On the morning of the 17th, we had received
reliable information that the enemy was advancing, over 50,000 strong, and were
not surprised, at five o'clock in the morning, to hear the fire of our pickets,
who were slowly retiring before the advancing foe. The order was given to pack.
In ten minutes baggage was packed, tents struck, and the wagons driven to the
rear; and the whole command forward to line of battle. In a few minutes the glittering
bayonets of the enemy lined the neighbouring hills. From the heavy signal-guns
being fired at intervals along our line — commencing at Germantown and
stretching along to Fairfax Court-House — it was evident that the enemy was
endeavouring to surround our little band; but our “Little Trump,” as the men
call Beauregard, was not to be taken by any such game. Every preparation was
made to deceive the enemy, by inducing him to believe that we meditated a
vigorous resistance Meantime our column defiled through a densely wooded road,
and was far on the way to Centreville when the enemy discovered his mistake. He
followed on very cautiously. To our
troop, with Kemper's Battery, was assigned the post of honour, and charged with
the duty of covering the retreat. We were the last to leave the village, and as
we went out at one end of the street, his column appeared at the other. We
halted at this place about four o'clock in the afternoon, and again made show
of battle — slept until twelve o'clock at the heads of our horses. We silently
left the place, the enemy's pickets being within hailing distance of our own.
At daybreak we were across Bull Run, having marched very slowly to keep pace
with the infantry. We found beds of leaves in the woods, wrapped ourselves in our
blankets, and slept for an hour or two, until we were aroused by the roar of
the enemy's guns as he opened his batteries upon our lines. For two mortal
hours shot and shell flew thick along our whole line. This day's work was
evidently intended only to draw the fire of our artillery, and show where our
batteries were, in consequence of which our gunners were ordered not to fire a
single shot, unless within point-blank range. After thus opening the ball, two
dense masses of infantry were sent to defile to the right and left, to make two
separate attacks. It was indeed a beautiful sight as they came down in perfect
order, and with the stealthy step of veterans. They came nearer and yet nearer,
and yet no shot from our guns. Our men began to mutter, and say that we were
preparing for another retreat. But in a few moments the appointed time arrived.
A single shot from the Washington Artillery gave the signal of death, and for
half an hour there was nothing but a continuous sheet of flame along the right
of our lines. The enemy fell back, rallied, and charged again, with a like
result. Again they rested, and rushed forward, but old Virginia was true to
herself, and the gallant Seventeenth and Eighteenth Regiments charged them with
the bayonet, and drove them back in utter confusion. The cavalry were held in
reserve, and although within range of the artillery, and constantly
experiencing the sensation which men may be supposed to indulge, who know there
is a hidden danger hovering in the air, without knowing where it is to light,
took no part in the action. Our time came yesterday, however. Our troop was for
four hours in the hottest of the fight, and every man in it won the applause
and approbation of the whole camp. The action commenced at eight o'clock on the
sweet Sabbath morning. The enemy commenced with quite a heavy cannonade upon
our right, which proved to be a mere feint, to distract our attention, as his
main attack was directed to our left wing. At ten o'clock the enemy had crossed
the river on our left, and then the fighting commenced in earnest. From the
hill on which we stood, we could see, from the smoke and dust, though at the
distance of several miles, how the fight was waging on our left. Some thought
the enemy was retreating; others that our men had fallen back. It was an hour
of painful interest. At eleven o'clock an aid-de-camp rode up in a gallop, and
said our men were retiring — the cavalry was ordered to the left. We were
temporarily attached to Radford's regiment — ours was the first company, and mine
was the first platoon. On we dashed in a gallop, and as we passed within range
of a battery of rifled cannon a ball was fired at us which passed between
Wickham and myself, knocking up a cloud of dust. Without wavering in their
ranks, the men and horses dashed forward at a gallop. As we reached the scene
of action the sight was discouraging in the extreme. The enemy had at first the
advantage of every attacking party. He had concentrated his forces for an
attack upon one point. The First Louisiana Regiment and the Fourth Alabama,
attacked in flank and centre by 30,000 men, were literally cut to pieces. They
refused to surrender, but retired slowly, disputing every inch of ground. As we
rode up we could meet parts of companies which had been utterly overwhelmed—the
men wounded, their arms broken, while some of them were carrying off their dead
in blankets. Every thing looked like retreat. We were ordered up to within five
hundred yards of the enemy's artillery, behind a hill which afforded some
protection against their destructive fire. For one hour the fire raged with
incessant fury. A ball passed over the hill and through our ranks, grazing one
of our men. A shell exploded just under Radford's horse, and every minute shot
and shell were continually whistling by us. I can give you no conception of
that awful hour. Not a man shrank from his post. Two of our men were taken
exceedingly sick, one fainting from the heat and excitement. Such calmness and composure
I never witnessed. To make the matter worse, despondency, if not despair, was
fast writing itself upon every face. The fire was evidently approaching us. Our
friends were retiring, and the whispered rumour passed from lip to lip that our
artillery ammunition was running low. In a moment, however, a cloud of dust in
our rear showed the approach of our wagons, coming up at a dashing rate, with a
fresh supply. Our reinforcements now commenced pouring in. Georgia, South
Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, and Tennessee swept by in their glittering
array with the calm light of battle on their faces, and their bayonets gleaming
in the quiet Sabbath sunshine. No man faltered, no man lagged behind. Neither
the groans of the dying nor the shrieks of the wounded, as they passed by in
crowded ambulances, seemed to produce any impression except to fix the
determination upon the countenances of all, to win or to die upon the field.
The tide now seemed to ebb, just enough to keep us from despair. The firing did
not advance, although the explosion of their shells was terrific in the
extreme. A gleam of hope, too, gradually broke in upon us, when Kemper's
Battery, which had been posted in our centre, galloped up and opened a
destructive fire upon our extreme left. The advance was evidently checked, when
a loud cheer in the front told us that something unusual had happened. What was
it? Was it the triumph of our enemies over our poor stricken friends; or was it
some advantage gained by courage in defence of right? The suspense was awful.
Men stood straight in their stirrups and stretched their eyes as if they could
pierce the rugged bosom of the barren hill which raised its scarred front
between them. An aid passed up. His message is written on his face, and before
he speaks a word a wild shout breaks from the throats of thousands. When he
speaks, another, another and another round of cheers told the story to our
hitherto sinking hearts. The Fourth Virginia Regiment had taken Sprague's Rhode
Island Battery of six pieces, at the point of the bayonet. Scarcely had the
echo of our cheers died away when again the noise of shouting broke upon the
air. What was it? Had the enemy rallied and retaken the guns? Fear struggled
with hope. But no: the gallant Twenty-seventh, envious of the glorious
achievement of the Fourth, at a single dash had charged a regiment of regulars,
swept them from the field, and taken every gun in Sherman's Battery.1
The firing of musketry and the
rattling of bayonets was now terrible beyond description. For one hour there
was an incessant cracking of rifles, without a single moment's pause. The enemy
were evidently retiring, and unless reinforced from the left and centre, the
day was ours.
To prevent this, our field telegraph had already given the
signal for movement upon our own right, and a heavy fire of musketry and
artillery told us that Bonham's Brigade, to which we had been attached in the
morning, had crossed the run and were pouring it into the enemy's centre. The
South Carolina boys dashed up the hill in face of a murderous fire, bayoneted
their gunners, and took quiet possession of their central battery. It was three
o'clock, and the day was ours. The Washington Artillery galloped up the hill on
which we were posted, and opened a perfect Vesuvius of shot and shell upon the
receding foe. Colonel Lay then rode up and told us that the time for us to act
had arrived. Our whole body of cavalry, 2,700 strong, now rushed like the wind
to the front. It was indeed a brilliant spectacle, as, with slackened rein and
sabres drawn, the whole command dashed past. The whole line resounded with
continued cheering. The force was divided into different detachments. Colonel
Radford, with six companies, was ordered to cross a short distance below the
enemy's extreme right, and intercept his column. Our company was in front, and
I was riding in front of my platoon, when, after crossing the swamp, we came
suddenly on a detachment of the enemy concealed in the bushes, with their
pieces levelled. The Colonel ordered the charge, and our boys rushed on. Poor
Edmund Fontaine was at my side when we rode over two of them, and they grounded
their arms to Ed. Winston, who was just in our rear. We galloped on in pursuit
of the rest, who retreated across a field, towards the road on which the enemy
was retreating. Fontaine was just behind me. Saunders, a fine young fellow,
just twenty-four years of age, and splendidly mounted, dashed by us. The enemy
had concealed themselves behind a fence; we rode up, and I demanded their surrender;
they made no reply. I ordered Saunders to fire; before he levelled his carbine
the whole squad poured in a volley. Saunders fell dead at my feet, and Edmund
Fontaine reeled in his saddle, exclaiming, “Save me, boys; I am killed!” He was
caught in the arms of his cousin, who was just in my rear. Three of my platoon
fired, and the two who had shot Fontaine and Saunders fell dead in their
tracks. We were now in full view of the enemy's columns, passing in rapid and
disorderly retreat along the road, with two pieces of artillery, a large number
of baggage-wagons, and some officers' carriages. Colonel Radford, who is a
soldier of experience, knew the strength of the enemy and ordered a halt,
commanding the men to form. But such a thing was utterly impossible. The men
seemed perfectly delirious with excitement, and with a wild shout of, “The
guns, the guns!” our whole company rushed pell-mell upon the battery, which
proved to be another detachment of the Rhode Island Artillery. Such a scene of
wild excitement I never witnessed. My platoon had been detached from the
company, and the company from the regiment. There were two caissons and two
guns; the guns behind the caissons. My platoon, which was furthest down the
road, rushed upon the men who guarded them. One fellow was standing on the
caisson, whipping the horses to make them run; they had become so much alarmed
that they stood perfectly still, and trembled. I made a blow at him with my
sabre, knocked him off the caisson, and he was shot twice before he reached the
ground. Meantime Wms. C. Wickham (who behaved admirably), with the main body,
crossed the road higher up, and when the main body of the regiment came up, our
company, with some of the Alexandria cavalry, had killed and wounded every man
at the guns, and driven the infantry supports in rapid retreat. When we left we
expected to be supported by infantry and artillery, and you may imagine our
astonishment when, with not quite 300 men, we found that we had nearly cut into
the enemy's column, and upon looking one hundred yards down the road, we found
them preparing to open on us with two guns supported by six regiments of
infantry. The Colonel at once ordered a retreat, so we shot the horses to the
caissons, so as to block up the road, and retreated, not, however, before they
had poured in upon us four rounds of grape and canister at one hundred and
fifty yards' distance. How we escaped a perfect massacre I cannot say. Had they
not been so close to us the slaughter would have been terrible. Four of our men
were killed. Captain Radford, brother of the Colonel, was literally blown to
pieces. I escaped without a scratch, (as
did all the rest of the officers,) excepting quite a severe bruise caused by my
horse having pressed my leg against the wheel to the gun-carriage. We brought
off several prisoners, a great many pistols, and several horses. Just ahead of
the guns was a very handsome open carriage. As soon as they saw us, such a
rush! It is suspected, or rather hoped, that Wilson, of Massachusetts, (who
was, it is known, on the field,) was in it. One of our men, Linkey by name,
took it into his head that General Scott was in it, pursued and overtook it,
but at the distance of thirty steps fired his musketine, with eighteen
buck-shot, right into the back window.
As we returned, a melancholy mistake occurred. Bowles, our
second lieutenant, who was carrying poor Fontaine to the hospital, with one or
two others, met a detachment of four of the Appomattox cavalry, who hailed him.
It is said that, instead of giving the signal agreed upon in our camp, by
raising the hand to the top of the head, he took them for the enemy, and
answered “Federal troops.” They fired and he fell dead. Our company received,
upon its return, the congratulations of every officer on General Bonham's staff,
to whom Colonel R. had spoken of the conduct of our men. To-day it has been
raining incessantly. Our column pushed on this morning to this place. Our
company was assigned the advance-guard, and this morning at ten o'clock, I had
the honor of occupying the city of Centreville. The citizens tell us
that about twelve o'clock last night the cry passed through the camp that the
Virginia horsemen were upon them, when they left in wild confusion. Our triumph
has been complete. In two days our noble army has driven them back to
Alexandria, captured forty-two guns, many colors, and how many prisoners I will
not venture to say. After we reached this place, we were ordered to explore the
surrounding country in quest of fugitives. We took eighteen prisoners, and got
back just at night, very wet. You never saw such a collection of property as
was left in their flight. Hundreds of muskets, gun-carriages, wagon horses;
thousands of knapsacks, oil-cloths and blankets, hogsheads of sugar, barrels of
pork, beans, etc.; in short, every thing you can conceive. We found to-day over
five hundred splendid army overcoats.
The men are amusing themselves to-night reading letters, of
which there were thousands left on the field. Some of them were directed to Mr.
So-and-So, expected at Manassas Junction. Some asked for a piece of the floor
of the house in which Ellsworth was killed, with blood on it; while others
confidently express the belief that Beauregard's scalp was to be carried to
Washington. When I tell you that we supped to-night on Yankee crackers, Yankee
coffee, and a nice beef-tongue, actually left on the hearth of one of the
officers' quarters, in a kettle, ready to be set on the fire — that this is
written with a Yankee pencil, given me by one of the men, and on Yankee paper,
taken from their wagons, and that I am sitting on a Yankee camp-stool, and
writing by a Yankee candle, you can form some idea of the utter rout. I have a
pincushion for L., picked up on the field, a needle-case for K., and a sword taken
from a Vermont volunteer, for W. Our troops occupy Fairfax Court House to-day.
I will try and see you soon. Good-night. God bless and protect you. I feel that
he has protected me in the last few days, in answer to the prayers of a pious
wife. I hope that I feel grateful for my preservation.
_______________
1 The capture attributed to the 27th Virginia is
probably a mistake. The honor claimed for that regiment has since been ascribed
to Fisher's 6th North Carolina regiment. In the excitement of the occasion, the
writer of the letter may have been misinformed. The author is glad to make the
correction. All honor is certainly due to the noble “Old North State,” which,
it has always been said, sent a larger number of troops to the field, in
proportion to its population, than any other State in the Confederacy, and
which buried so many thousands of its gallant sons, in defence of our “lost
cause.”
Note By The
Publishers. — Both the statements are probably true, to some extent. We
have unquestionable evidence that Fisher's regiment captured one section of
Sherman's battery just before Col. Fisher received his mortal wound. But the
same evidence shows that there was another section (both under Captain
Ricketts) which was captured by other troops; our friend does not know what
troops, but no doubt the 27th Virginia.
SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern
Refugee, During the War, p. 55-64, 360
