Chapter X: A Meeting and a Retreat

The forces under General Beauregard at the battle of Bull Run consisted of some twenty regiments of infantry and a number of cavalry companies and sections of light artillery. It was a regiment of South Carolina men that had defended the earthworks attacked by the Goreville Volunteers and others, and they fought bravely for many hours after the scene recorded in the last chapter. The battery was one from North Carolina and retreated from its first position only to take a second half-way up the side of a hill, at the top of which stood a single house. It was around the vicinity of this house that the main onslaughts of the day occurred.

In the meantime, however, what of the cavalry to which Andy was attached? The Montgomery Grays were located along the Warrenton turnpike, and it was their honor to capture one of the first cannons taken from the Union army. The capture took place at a bend in the road, and was followed by a fierce attack by the boys in blue, which nearly demoralized the Montgomery Grays.

“Forward! Forward!” cried Captain Montgomery again and again, but when Andy and the others attempted to move on they found they were literally urging their steeds upon a bed of bayonets. They fired their pistols and slashed with their sabers, and the din and shock were terrific.

“Down you come, grayback!” Andy heard yelled in his ear, and a bayonet was thrust up against his side. He pulled back, escaping the steel point by only a few inches and cut his assailant heavily on the arm. The next moment other cavalrymen pushed on behind, and then there was nothing to do but to go on, cutting a path right and left as the Montgomery Grays advanced.

Yet when the Confederate cavalry had thus hewn a path for itself along the turnpike for a distance of several hundred feet, it found the advantage of position a doubtful one. From the woods poured a regiment of New York militia, and the fire was so hot from these well-trained soldiers that the cavalry was forced to move rapidly towards another defense of the Confederates, dragging the captured cannon with them. As they were ploughing on, in the dust and dirt, a volley of Minie balls whistled around them and one clipped Andy on the leg, leaving a stinging pain behind it.

“Are you struck, Andy?” cried Leroy Wellington, who rode near to his friend.

“Yes, in the leg; but I reckon it’s not much,” was Andy’s reply, as he brushed the perspiration and dirt from his face with his coat sleeve. “Phew! but this is more than warm work!”

“Never mind; we have one of their cannons!” returned Leroy. It filled his heart with martial joy to think that he had been one of the first to lay hands on the piece after cutting down the gunner.

“Don’t crow until we are out of the woods, Leroy. Here come more of the Yankee boys.”

“Pennsylvania men!” cried somebody in advance. “Load, boys, and be quick about it!”

“Pennsylvania men!” repeated Andy. “What if it should be Louis’s company? I couldn’t fire on him!” he thought. Then he began to load with all possible speed.

The Pennyslvania company, however, belonged to the regular militia. They were an excellently drilled body of men, and came forward in a solid mass that nothing could stay. They had heard about the capture of the cannon and were determined, if possible, to regain the piece. They fired at close range, then began to use their bayonets, and soon the cannon was reached, and here cutting, thrusting, and clubbing became the order of the day.

Never had Andy thought to be in such a stubborn conflict. He cut, thrust, and charged on all sides of him. Once the butt of a musket hit him in the back and unseated him. There was a yell of triumph as he went down. Before the yell came to an end he was up again and charged straight for his adversary, a tall militiaman, who dodged out of the way in double-quick order. Andy wanted to fire at him, but before he could bring his pistol into play the tide of battle had swept man and boy fifty feet apart.

And so the fray went on, until, Confederate reinforcements coming on, the Union soldiers were forced to retreat, and the Montgomery Grays returned in triumph to their own division, dragging the cannon after them. As they moved on General Longstreet swept by them on his charger.

“Good, boys; good!” he cried, waving his sword. “Keep it up and the day is ours!”

“Carry the news to Jefferson Davis!” yelled Leroy, after him, and the Confederate general turned in his saddle and smiled. An instant later the smoke of battle swallowed him up.

But now even the horses were beginning to show signs of fatigue, and the greater part of the company were compelled to fall back several hundred feet farther, where there was a small stream flowing into Bull Run. Here men and beasts procured much-needed drink and stopped to get their “second wind.”

Hardly was Andy again in the saddle when the bugle called him and his fellow-cavalrymen to a new position along the side of the hill before mentioned. To gain this new position the Montgomery Grays had to cross an open space probably three hundred feet in diameter--a clearing well covered by the batteries of the Union army.

“Forward, and lose no time!” cried Captain Montgomery, and led the way, followed almost immediately by a score of his men, with Andy and Leroy in the number. The captain had scarcely covered a quarter of the distance when, suddenly, his horse, a powerful gray stallion, was seen to rear up viciously and take the bit between his teeth.

“Whoa!” roared the Confederate commander, but instead of obeying the stallion reared again, then dropped like a flash and shot off on a mad gallop, directly for the Union lines!

“The captain’s horse is running away!” cried Leroy. “Whoa! Whoa!”

“He’ll be carried into the enemy’s lines!” yelled another of the men. “Turn him to yer right, cap’n! To the right!”

“Whoa, Harry!” cried the captain, tugging in vain at the reins. Harry would not whoa, but with blazing eyes kept straight on, until the ranks of the enemy could be plainly seen.

But now came rapid hoof-strokes from behind. From the start Andy had realized his captain’s danger and wondered how it could be averted. He knew that trying to stop Harry by pulling on the reins or calling to him was out of the question. The horse had lost his head and would not obey until exhausted.

“Forward, Firefly!” he called to his own animal, and, trained to obey on the moment, brave Firefly flew out of the line and in full pursuit of the runaway.

“Come back! It’s certain death!” yelled Leroy, in horror; but if Andy heard he paid no attention. On and on he went, until the very side of the runaway was gained. The advance line of the enemy was now less than a hundred feet away. Several rifles rang out and the bullets whistled on every side.

As Andy ranged up alongside he crowded Harry on the left. The stallion did not like this and turned to bite Firefly. But Andy was ready for him and struck the runaway on the nose. At once Harry sheered off as desired, and away went both horses at right angles to the course previously pursued. Again the rifles from the Union side rang out and Captain Montgomery was slightly wounded in the arm, and Andy had his plumed hat ventilated much against his desires.

“I owe you one for that, Arlington,” said the captain, when both were safe for the time being. “I’ll not forget you.”

“I think you had better get a more manageable horse after this, captain,” returned the youth, with a smile. “He’s too willing to go over to the enemy.”

“I’ll give him another trial. If he runs away again I’ll shoot him,” replied Captain Montgomery, and having once more gotten his stallion under control, he galloped off to obtain further orders from the general in charge.

“We are ordered to the breastworks below here,” said the officer, a few minutes later. “A South Carolina regiment has been holding the defense, but matters are getting too hot for them. Forward, boys, and show them what our Grays can do. Hurrah for the Stars and Bars!” and away went the troop of cavalry, flinging up the sod of the cut up field behind them. In two minutes more they were again in the thick of the fray.

“The cavalry is coming!” Andy heard one of the Union soldiers ejaculate. “Never mind, Blackwell. Show ’em what sort of stuff the Goreville Volunteers are made of,” added another. “Now we have this ground, let us hold it. Hurrah for McDowell and General Scott!”

“The Goreville Volunteers,” thought Andy, and the hot blood rushed to his face. It was Louis’s company! Supposing he should--

“Andy!” It was a yell from his left. He turned swiftly. Sure enough, there was Louis, battling bravely in the midst of half a dozen of the South Carolina men, one of whom was about to stick his bayonet into the Union boy’s breast. “Don’t kill him! Don’t, please!” were the words which rose to his lips, but in the din of battle no one heard him. Then he saw Louis catch hold of the bayonet and thrust it aside. In another moment the two chums found themselves face to face.

“Louis! To think we should meet like this!” came from Andy’s white lips. “You must go back! You will be killed, or captured!”

“I am fighting as I was told to fight, Andy,” was the determined reply. “Good-bye, and take care of yourself!” and away sped Louis, knocking headlong a Confederate soldier who sought to detain him. Andy had now all he could do to look out for his own welfare; and thus the former chums parted, not to meet again until the Army of the Potomac marched against Richmond, the Confederate capital.

We will follow for the time being the fortunes of Andy. With Louis’s disappearance the Southern youth discovered that a fresh body of Union soldiers had come up to reinforce the Goreville Volunteers, who were now all but exhausted to a man. He was pleased to note this, as the idea of fighting even against the company to which his chum belonged was distasteful to him.

The Grays were ordered to charge the men who were holding the defense, and away they dashed, with two other cavalry companies beside them. This charge was bravely met, and once again Andy found himself in a hand-to-hand fight. This did not last more than five minutes, when the Union soldiers were seen to part, to let through a battery of two cannons, both twelve-pounders. As quickly as possible the battery was placed in position, the rear guard of the Union men meanwhile protecting the pieces. Then away went the Northern troops to the right and left, and the order was given for the Grays to retreat. The order came none too soon, for when the cannons blazed forth the aims of the gunners were found so correct that eight horsemen and six animals were laid low. The Union battery remained where it was for over an hour, when the general retreat of the Union troops began.

The line of battle had originally been nearly eight miles long, but now it was so broken and disorganized that the fighting became general upon all sides, although the heaviest attacks were still made in the vicinity of the hill before mentioned. The exhaustion in the hot sun was terrible, and many of the soldiers had not had time to eat a mouthful since early morning. Some of the poor fellows, unable to carry the load, had thrown away their knapsacks, and they now ran around begging for a mouthful of something with which to brace themselves up. It was their first awakening to the stern reality of grim war.

“If ever I git back to old New York ag’in,” wailed a Bowery boy, who had enlisted for three months with the idea that going down South to whip the “rebs” would be “nothin’ but sport, boys, nothin’ but sport.” He wanted to see no more of the war,--and he had his counterpart everywhere, on both sides. One dandy from Richmond who had enlisted also for “sport” was heard to exclaim that henceforth “the big guns can fight for themselves. I’ll be jiggered if I’ll do it for them,” meaning that, as far as he was concerned, the politicians and others who had precipitated the conflict could end it among themselves.

But there were others, and they numbered thousands upon both sides, who fought bravely to the very last, realizing that the eyes of the whole world were upon them in this initial conflict. They were fighting to uphold a principle, not fighting against a Northern or a Southern brother. To these the horrors of carnage were as appalling as they could well be, but they had steeled their hearts for the inevitable, and they went on, to live or die in the defense of what they thought right. These, and these only, are the true heroes of the great war, and there is no dividing line, and there never could be, to separate them.

The booming of cannons and the shrieking of shells still went on as the Goreville Volunteers gathered together in a little clump of trees and snatched a hasty biscuit and a drink of water. Each man and boy was begrimed with sweat, dirt, and powder, and each was more than half-exhausted from his exertions.

“Oh, but ain’t this simply dreadful!” moaned Jerry Rowe, for at least the fiftieth time. “Captain Paulding never told me of it when he got me to enlist.”

“The captain wanted to make a man of you, Jerry,” replied Nathan Hornsby. “What are you kicking about? See, I’m clipped with a bullet wound in my left fore-arm, but I’m not complaining.”

“The cap’n will make a man of Jerry if his knees hold out,” put in another of the men. “But, Jerry, don’t shake so bad or your knees will cut through your trousers,” and a short laugh went up, even in that perilous position--a laugh which was cut short by the passage of a cannon ball through the trees. Everybody ducked, and Jerry fell flat, although the ball was ten feet up in the air.

General McDowell, now seeing the tide of battle turning against his troops, sought by every means in his power to recuperate his forces. But when several attacks had been led forward without avail, it was determined to fall back, in the hope of taking a fresh stand in the vicinity of Centerville. In the meantime, however, the troops of General Johnson, which had escaped from the Union General Patterson at Charlestown, in West Virginia, miles away, had come in on railroad trains to Manassas Junction, and these fresh Confederate soldiers, appearing suddenly on the field, started a panic among the Northern companies, a panic which it was impossible, in the mixed-up condition of affairs, to stay.

“General Johnson has come on with twenty thousand fresh troops! We must fly for it!” was the cry which was taken up from company to company. Johnson had come up with no such magnificent number of men, but he had come up with enough to make a good showing, and, utterly worn out from marching and fighting in the hot sun, the Union troops commenced the retreat in the direction of Washington.

The blow to all was a bitter one, but now was no time to think about it. “We can weep afterwards,” said one of the older men of the Goreville Volunteers. “Now it is use your legs or go to a rebel prison,” and off he stalked, with Captain Paulding, Louis, Harry Bingham, Moses Blackwell, and a dozen others beside him. The captain tried to preserve order, but this was impossible, for men on foot and men on horseback were rushing hither and thither, trying to find their commands or, at least, a friend or two.

Less than half a mile had been covered, when a firing upon the road caused the volunteers to halt. Then came a rush, and a band of the Confederate cavalry swept by. As they did so the volunteers stepped into the shelter of the woods beside the turnpike. They were about to emerge when Louis felt himself jerked violently to the ground. He had been pulled down by a fellow concealed in the long grass. As he tumbled headlong he caught sight of the man’s face. It was Sam Jacks!