Lieutenant William Thompson Lusk to Elizabeth Adams Lusk, July 19, 1861

Near Centreville, July 19th, 1861.

My dear Mother:

I am happy to write you of my continued health and good spirits. We had an adventurous time since I wrote you so hurriedly a few days ago. Leaving our encampment we marched on, halting often to remove trees and such other impediments as a retreating foe could place in our way. The first night we passed in Vienna. The next day we advanced on toward Fairfax Court House. We were drawn up about two miles off in line of battle upon rolling ground, and the batteries placed where they could play upon the enemy. Five shots from our guns sufficed to start our friends the foe again, so we advanced further, passing a deserted battery on the way. At noon we were in Germantown, which place we found deserted, and soon the soldiers were ransacking the houses for food, destroying and burning what they could not use themselves. I am happy to say the boys in my company had little hand in these doings, as such paltry work finds little countenance from its officers. Germantown is but a poor place though and $200 would probably cover any damage done to it. At night we bivouacked upon fields where the enemy's fires were still burning, not far from Centreville. Here we were but a mile or two from the Secessionists, and the firing of pickets caused frequent alarms, calling us to our posts once in the middle of the night. We were all awakened by the long roll of the drum, which is the signal of an advance. We heard then what seemed to us all in our half sleepy state, the tramp of cavalry upon us. Our toilettes were hastily made you can imagine, and soon we stood in silence not knowing whence the attack would come, but after an hour's anticipation all became still, so the “chivalry” must have changed their minds and returned back to their posts. I cannot enumerate all the alarms we have had, for there is only paper enough to tell of our part in yesterday's fight. About noon, I should think, for I have no means of calculating the time, we heard cannon firing not far off. There was no alarm sounded, so we lay around, sleeping, talking, and laughing with the utmost indifference. About 3 o'clock we were called to arms and, in the highest spirits, were marched off at a “Double Quick,” hoping that the 79th might have some share in the conflict now at hand. We found a Massachusetts Captain, an acquaintance of one of our sergeants. “We are going to give them fits” says the Captain. It was not half an hour afterwards we saw his body borne back in one of our ambulances. When near the field of action we were divided off in line, concealed in the edge of the wood. The cannon balls whipped about us on all sides. The enemy, either by accident, or knowing of our presence, had us directly in their range. One man in my platoon was struck in the leg. Thank God our loss was not greater. We were totally unaware of our destination. It was found afterwards we had been stationed out to cover the retreat of the Brigade already in action. After a while the cannon ceased firing and we were marched off to our present bivouack.

You must know the particulars of yesterday's skirmish by the papers a thousand times better than I can tell you.

Excuse the style of this letter, for it is written with the paper on the side of an axe. An order has just been issued imposing the severest penalties upon all those who shall in any wise trespass on private property. I am now ready to march forward with a lighter heart, for it was not pleasant to be connected with thieves — call thieving confiscation or what you will.

My best love, dearest Mother, for all. Keep up a light heart and trust in the Power of Him who ruleth all.

Very affec'y.,

W. T. Lusk,

Lieut. 10th Co. 79tb Regt.

SOURCE: William Chittenden Lusk, Editor, War Letters of William Thompson Lusk, p. 51-3

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: July 19, 1861

Beauregard telegraphed yesterday (they say, to General Johnston), “Come down and help us, or we shall be crushed by numbers.” The President telegraphed General Johnston to move down to Beauregard's aid. At Bull Run, Bonham's Brigade, Ewell's, and Longstreet's encountered the foe and repulsed him. Six hundred prisoners have been sent here.

I arose, as the Scriptures say, and washed my face and anointed my head and went down-stairs. At the foot of them stood General Cooper, radiant, one finger nervously arranging his shirt collar, or adjusting his neck to it after his fashion. He called out: “Your South Carolina man, Bonham, has done a capital thing at Bull Run — driven back the enemy, if not defeated him; with killed and prisoners,” etc., etc. Clingman came to tell the particulars, and Colonel Smith (one of the trio with Garnett, McClellan, who were sent to Europe to inspect and report on military matters). Poor Garnett is killed. There was cowardice or treachery on the part of natives up there, or some of Governor Letcher's appointments to military posts. I hear all these things said. I do not understand, but it was a fatal business.

Mrs. McLane says she finds we do not believe a word of any news unless it comes in this guise: “A great battle fought. Not one Confederate killed. Enemy’s loss in killed, wounded, and prisoners taken by us, immense.” I was in hopes there would be no battle until Mr. Chesnut was forced to give up his amateur aideship to come and attend to his regular duties in the Congress.

Keitt has come in. He says Bonham's battle was a skirmish of outposts. Joe Davis, Jr., said: “Would Heaven only send us a Napoleon!” Not one bit of use. If Heaven did, Walker would not give him a commission. Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Joe Johnston, “her dear Lydia,” were in fine spirits. The effect upon nous autres was evident; we rallied visibly. South Carolina troops pass every day. They go by with a gay step. Tom Taylor and John Rhett bowed to us from their horses as we leaned out of the windows.

Such shaking of handkerchiefs. We are forever at the windows. It was not such a mere skirmish. We took three rifled cannon and six hundred stands of arms. Mr. Davis has gone to Manassas. He did not let Wigfall know he was going. That ends the delusion of Wigfall's aideship. No mistake to-day. I was too ill to move out of my bed. So they all sat in my room.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 85-6

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: July 19, 1861

This day is perhaps the most anxious of my life. It is believed that a battle is going on at or near Manassas. Our large household is in a state of feverish anxiety; but we cannot talk of it. Some sit still, and are more quiet than usual; others are trying to employ themselves. N. is reading aloud, trying to interest herself and others; but we are all alike anxious, which is betrayed by the restless eye and sad countenance. Yesterday evening we were startled by the sound of myriads of horses, wheels, and men on the turnpike. We soon found the whole of General Johnston's army was passing by, on its way to join Beauregard, below the mountain. A note from J. M. G., written with a pencil at the Longwood gate, was soon brought in, to say that they would halt at Millwood. The carriages were soon ready, and as many of the family as could go went to Millwood to meet them. I gave up my seat to another, for I felt too sad to meet with those dear boys marching on to such danger. Mr. ____ and the girls went. They saw my nephews, R. C. W. and B. B., and others who were very dear to us. They report them all as in fine spirits. The people all along the road, and in the village of Millwood, went out to meet them with refreshments. While halting at Millwood, General Johnston announced to them that General Beauregard had been successful in a fight the day before, near Manassas, and that another fight was hourly pending. The troops became wild with excitement. It is said that General Patterson has gone to join McDowell. I trust that General Johnston may get there in time. They were passing here from about four in the afternoon until a late hour in the night. After midnight the heavy army wagons were lumbering by, and we ever and anon heard the tap of the drum. We did not retire until all was still, and then none of us slept.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 40-1