Chapter VI: Part 6

The first battery attacked that day had been silenced, but not taken; and there, in the woods which protected it, four hundred South Carolinians had been concealed during the entire battle, to swarm out now and fall upon the Union infantry in this most critical moment. A sudden swoop of cavalry completed that unhappy day’s work. The Union infantry broke ranks, and plunging into the woods fled up the hill. A crowd of ambulances and army wagons had concentrated close to this spot, and civilians, led to the field by curiosity, blocked up the ground. The panic which had swept the battle-field seized on them. Kellogg of Michigan, Washburne of Illinois, and it is said, Lovejoy of Illinois, flung themselves in the midst of the fugitives, and entreated them to make a stand. Ely, of New York, was taken prisoner in a rash effort to restore confidence to the panic-stricken masses of men. But the maddened crowd plunged on. The teamsters urged their frightened horses into a headlong rush for the road; everything and everybody, brave or craven, were swept forward by the irresistible human torrent. It was a stampede which no power could check or resist. From the branch road the trains attached to Hunter’s division had caught the contagion, and rushed into the staggering masses, creating fresh dismay and wilder confusion.

It was a frightful scene, more terrible by far than the horrors of the battle-field. Broken regiments, without leaders, filled the road, the open fields, and skirted the fences, in one wild panic. Army wagons, sutler’s teams and artillery caissons rushed together, running each other down, and leaving the wrecks upon the road. Hacks were crushed between heavy wagon wheels and their occupants flung to the ground. Horses, wild with fright and maddened with wounds, galloped fiercely through the crowd, rearing and plunging when the worn-out fugitives attempted to seize them and save themselves from the destruction that was threatened at every step.

Wounded men, who had found strength to stagger off the battle-field, fell by the wayside, begging piteously to be taken up. Now and then a kind fellow would mount a wounded soldier behind him, and give the horse he had caught a double load; most of the poor fellows were brought forward in this way. Sometimes a wounded man would be picked up by two passing companions, and carried tenderly forward—for the sweet impulses of humanity were not all lost in that wild retreat.

Then came the artillery—for much was saved—thundering through the panic-stricken crowd, crushing everything as it went, dragged recklessly along by horses wild as the men that urged them on. Rifles, bayonets, pistols, blankets, haversacks and knapsacks were flung singly or in heaps along the way. Devoured by intense thirst, black with powder, famished and halting, these stricken men plunged into the fields, searching for water. If a muddy pool presented itself, they staggered to its brink with a pitiful laugh, and lying down on their faces, drank greedily, then arose with tears in their eyes, thanking God for the great luxury.

As they passed by the few houses on the road, women—God bless them!—would come out, some with curt, but genuine hospitality, others with tears streaming down their cheeks, and gave drink and food to the wounded men as they halted by. Those who fell upon the wayside were taken in and tended kindly till the next day. Boys came from the wells, bearing pailsful of water, which their little sisters distributed to the jaded men in their own tin cups.

But this panic, like all others, was of brief duration. When the fugitives reached Centreville, they found Blenker’s brigade stretched across the road ready to guard the retreat. Some of the fugitives rallied and formed into line, but they had flung away their arms, and the highway from Stone Bridge to Centreville was literally covered with these cast-off weapons and munitions of war, hurled from the army wagons by reckless teamsters. In places the road was blocked up by the wagons themselves, from which the drivers had cut their teams loose and fled on the relieved horses.

Blenker, of Miles’ division, whose duty up to this time had been one of inaction at Centreville, now did good service at his important post. With three regiments he kept the road, expecting every moment to be assailed by an overpowering and victorious enemy, eager to complete his fatal work. As the darkness increased, the peril of his position became imminent. At eleven o’clock the attack came upon the advance company of Colonel Stahel’s rifles, from a body of the enemy’s cavalry, which was, however, driven back, and did not return. At this time Richardson and Davies were both in Centreville with their brigades, which composed the entire left wing, all well organized and under perfect command. These troops were put under the command of Colonel Davies, who led them off the field—Blenker’s brigade being the last to leave the town it had done so much to protect.

The cause of this stupendous stampede no one ever has or can explain. Cowardice it certainly was not. Those men had fought too bravely, and suffered too patiently for that charge to be brought against them. They were in fact victorious soldiers, for the rout of a single half hour, disastrous as it proved, should have no power to blot out the deeds of heroism that had marked the entire day. Was it excitement, acting on an exhausted frame?

Let those answer who bore the flag of our Union through the long hours of that July day, carried it under the hot sun through the fierce fight, the dust and smoke and carnage, when the sky was one mosaic of flame, and the earth groaned under the vibrations of artillery. They had marched twelve miles fasting, and with but one draught of water; marched without pause straight on to the battle field, and for nearly five hours fought bravely as men ever fought on earth. Many who had food found no time to eat it till the battle was at its close, but in the rash eagerness for the field, these men, new to the necessities of war, had flung their rations away, restive under the weight. They had started not far from midnight, from camps in a tumult of preparation, and therefore lacked sleep as well as food.

To all this was added THIRST—that hot, withering thirst, which burns like lava in the throat, and drives a man mad with craving. Panting for drink, their parched lips were blackened with gunpowder; and exhausted nature, when she clamored for food, was answered by the bitter saltness of cartridges ground between the soldiers’ teeth.

Think of these men, famished, sleepless, drinkless, after fighting through the fiery noon of a hot day, suddenly overwhelmed in the midst of a positive victory—called upon to fight another battle, while every breath came pantingly, from thirst, and every nerve quivered with the overtax of its natural strength. Think of them under the hoofs of the Black Horse cavalry, and swept down by the very batteries that had been their protection. Think of all this, and if men of military standing can condemn them, war is a cruel master, and warriors hard critics.

It is very easy for civilians, who sit in luxurious parlors and sip cool ices under the protection of the old flag, to sneer at this panic of Bull Run, but many a brave man—braver than their critics, or they would not have been in the ranks—was found even in the midst of that stampede.

What if all along the road were the marks of hurried flight—abandoned teams, dead horses, wasted ammunition, coats, blankets? Were there not dead and dying men there also? brave and hardy spirits, noble, generous souls, crushed beneath the iron hoof of war—sacrificed and dying bravely in retreat, as they had fought in the advance?

Never on this earth did the proud old American valor burn fiercer or swell higher than on that day and field. And a reproach to the heroes who left the impress of bravery, and gave up their lives on that red valley, should never come from any true American heart.

THE BATTLE ON THE LEFT WING.

On the morning of the 21st, according to McDowell’s plan of battle, the left wing, composed of Colonel Miles’ division, was stationed at Centreville and at Blackburn’s Ford, the scene of Tyler’s disaster on the 18th. Thus during the heat and struggle of that awful day the greater portion of the left wing was six miles from the centre of action. But notwithstanding, no better service was rendered to the country on that day than that of this comparatively small handful of men. The first brigade of this command, under Colonel Blenker, occupied the heights of Centreville.

The second brigade, under Colonel Thomas A. Davies, of New York, and Richardson’s brigade, were ordered by Colonel Miles to take position before the batteries at Blackburn’s Ford, near the battle-ground of the 18th, to make demonstrations of attack. In pursuance of General McDowell’s order, Colonel Davies, being ranking officer, took command of Richardson’s brigade.

On his route from Centreville in the morning, when about half way to Blackburn’s Ford, Colonel Davies, while conversing with the guide who rode by him, saw a country road, apparently little used, leading through the woods to the left. “That road,” said the guide, a fine, intelligent fellow, “will give position farther left and nearer the enemy, for it runs directly to Beauregard’s headquarters.”

Colonel Davies, who had graduated at West Point and served in the Mexican war, was prompt to recognize the importance of a point which might enable the enemy to move upon his rear. He ordered a halt, and detailed the Thirty-first New York regiment, Colonel Pratt, and the Thirty-second, Colonel Mathewson, with a detachment of artillery, to guard the road at its junction, and deployed another regiment with a section of artillery on the road, which was shaded and hedged in on both sides by a heavy growth of timber.

This duty performed, the troops continued their march. Davies took his position in a wheat field with what was left of his brigade, leaving Richardson to make his own arrangements to defend the position in front of the enemy’s batteries at Blackburn’s Ford, the battle-ground of the 18th. Richardson posted his command in this place, on the road from Centreville heights to Blackburn’s Ford.

The wheat field which Davies occupied contained a hill which overlooked a ravine, thickly wooded, on the opposite slope. On this hill Hunt’s battery, commanded by Lieutenant Edwards, was placed, having been exchanged from force of circumstances for Green’s battery, which belonged to Davies’ command, but was now with Richardson. The battery was supported by Davies’ own regiment, the Sixteenth New York, and the Eighteenth, Colonel Jackson. This hill commanded a broad view of the country on every side. The battle-ground of the right wing, six miles off, was in full sight. Opposite his position, across the stream, was the road which led from Bull Run to Manassas, and also to Beauregard’s extreme right. Parallel with the river to his extreme left, it was plainly traced, except where groves and clumps of trees concealed it. This road, with all the high grounds sloping from Manassas, covered with broken ridges, rich pasture lands and splendid groves, lay before the men as they placed their battery.

On their rear the Centreville road stretched along a beautiful tract of country, hidden by a waving sea of luxuriant foliage. Indeed all the converging roads that threaded the vast battle-field were plainly visible from that point.

Posted in this commanding position, Davies opened his demonstration with two twenty-pound rifle guns from Hunt’s battery. The first shot hurled a shell into Beauregard’s headquarters, which sent the rebels scattering in every direction. Richardson also commenced firing across the Run, producing the desired effect of keeping the enemy at their defences in the neighborhood.

At ten o’clock Colonel Miles visited the command. Finding the two regiments and artillery posted at the country road, he ordered the regiments to move forward one-fourth of a mile, and the artillery to join Davies’ command, leaving the road exposed. He then sent two companies to reconnoitre the enemy’s position. They had a skirmish on the stream, at Blackburn’s Ford, and came back with little damage.

The moment Miles rode back to Centreville, Davies ordered out his brigade pioneer corps, all sturdy lumbermen of the North, with orders to fell trees and block up the country road thus left exposed.

For two hours these sturdy men swung their axes among the heavy timber, answering the distant roar of the battle-field with a wild, crashing music, that broke with a new and more startling expression of war through the familiar roll of cannon. With sharp, crashing groans, the great trees were hurled to the earth, locked their splintered and broken boughs across the road, and covered it with mangled foliage, forming a barricade one-fourth of a mile long, impassable as a thousand cactus hedges. The roar of cannon afar off, and the batteries belching iron close by, failed to drown the groaning rush of these forest monarchs; and when the near guns were silent for a little time, as often happened, the almost human shiver of a tree, in its last poise before it rushed downward with a wail in all its leaves and branches, conveyed an idea of death more thrilling than any noise that battle-field had to give. At twelve o’clock, just after the pioneers had returned to position, a body of the enemy came down this road from Bull Run, intending to march on Centreville and take Miles’ division in the rear. Clouds of red dust rising from the trees betrayed them just as they had discovered the barricade, and a storm of shell and shrapnel hastened their backward march.

About this time the road on the other side of Bull Run was one cloud of flying dust. It was Johnston’s forces, a close line, going up to snatch victory from the brave army at Stone Bridge. The advance of these forces became visible at first in tiny curls of dust rising from the woods. Then it swelled into clouds, through which jaded horses and tired men seemed struggling onward in a continued stream.

At this time the distant cannonading became louder and more continuous; the far-off woods rolled up vast volumes of smoke, and where the battle raged, a black canopy hung suspended in mid-air. How those brave men, chained to their post by inevitable military law, panted to plunge into that hot contest! The inaction forced upon them when a struggle of life and death was going on in the distance, was worse than torture. They suspected the character of those troops moving forward in the red cloud, and followed them with eager, burning eyes. But they soon had work of their own to do!

The firing on the right slackened between three and four o’clock, growing fainter and fainter. About five, Colonel Davies received a line from Richardson, saying: “_The army is in full retreat_;” but the line was written in the haste and agitation of bad news, and was indistinct. Davies read it: “The _enemy_ is in full retreat.” But for this providential mistake, the battle of that day would have had a darker record than we are making now; for the retreat, disastrous as it was, would have been cut off, and Washington probably taken.

Believing the army victorious, these brave men bore the restraints of their position more patiently, but still panted for a share in the work.

At this time Beauregard’s telegraph, opposite the left of Davies’ position, had been working half an hour; and from lines of dust concentrating there and at Davies’ front, he anticipated an attack, and made disposition accordingly.

At five o’clock, the enemy appeared on the left, as Davies formed in line parallel to Bull Run, and about eight hundred yards distant. Between the hill which he occupied, and the slope down which they came from the road, was the valley or ravine, about four hundred yards from Hunt’s battery.

They filed down the road and formed in the valley, marching four abreast, with their guns at _right shoulder shift_, shining like a ripple of diamonds in the sunshine, and moving forward in splendid style.

At first Davies viewed them in silence, and standing still; but as the column began to fill the valley, he changed front to the left, and ordered the artillery to withhold its fire till the rear of the enemy’s column presented itself, and directed the infantry to lie down on their faces, and neither fire nor look up without orders. This was done that the enemy might not learn his strength and charge on the battery.

The rear of the column at last presented itself, an officer on horseback bringing it up. Then an order to fire was given, and Lieutenant Benjamin, a brave young fellow from West Point, fired the first shot from a twenty-pound rifled gun.

A cloud of dust, with a horse rearing, and its rider struggling in the midst, was all the result that could be observed. The rear of the enemy’s column then took the double-quick down the valley, and six pieces of artillery opened on them. The effect was terrible; at the distance of only four hundred yards, the enemy took the raking downward fire in all its fury. An awful cry rang up from the valley; the men had been swept down like wheat before a scythe, and their moans filled the air.

This murderous fire was repeated over and over again. There was no waiting to swab the guns, but, fast as powder and ball could be served, the ordnance sent out its volleys. The enemy made a desperate stand, but every shot swept down the men in masses. A vacant space appeared for a moment, then fresh men filed in. Twice they attempted to reform and charge the battery, but the rapidity with which the pieces were served, and the peculiar nature of the ground, rendered every shot effective, and they were swept back, cut down, speedily disorganized, and fled for the woods.

During all this action, Lieutenant-Colonel Marsh, of the Sixteenth, and Colonel Pratt, of the Thirty-first (the former since killed, and the latter wounded before Richmond), controlled their men perfectly. Not an infantry shot was fired during the engagement. Balls from the enemy struck the ground in volleys before the men, filling their eyes with dust. No man gave way; they were compelled to change position three times during the fight. Although so many of the enemy were killed, this spot being named, in the secession reports, as giving the heaviest mortality of the day, only two men of Davies’ command were hurt. One man was wounded, and Lieutenant Craig, a brave young officer from West Point, was killed.

This brilliant engagement, so important in its results, sprang out of a singular series of accidents: first, in the mistake made in reading Richardson’s dispatch, and again in a failure of orders. When the main army began its retreat past Centreville, at four o’clock, Colonel Miles sent his aid, Captain Vincent, to order Davies and his command back to Centreville, but Vincent, instead of coming first to Davies, stopped to give orders to Richardson, and two regiments of Davies’ brigade, stationed to guard his rear. After ordering Richardson back, Vincent came over the ravine to deliver his orders to Davies, when he heard his firing on the extreme left, went back to Centreville, to report, and returned just as the firing ceased, to direct Colonel Davies to retire on Centreville.

Davies, ignorant that Richardson had already fallen back, rode over to order his retreat, but to his astonishment, almost horror, found that the whole brigade, with two regiments of his own forces left to guard his rear, had been gone a full hour. Thus it happened that this important engagement had been fought and won with a single battery and two regiments of infantry, utterly alone and unsupported on the deserted battle-field, against a large body of men, endeavoring to sweep to the rear and cut off the army in its retreat.

It was near six o’clock when this contest terminated—two hours after the main army were in full retreat. If ever delay and accident were providential on this earth, it was here; for brave as these men were, no sane leader would have felt justified in exposing them to such peril upon a deserted battle-field, and in the face of a whole victorious army, after all chance of protection had been withdrawn.

When this band of victorious men reached Centreville, a stream of jaded, wounded and heavy-hearted men were pouring through the village, while General McDowell was making a desperate effort to collect all the troops that still kept a show of organization, under his own command. These troops were principally composed of the left wing, which came off the ground in good order. McDowell, about eight o’clock, left Centreville for Fairfax Court House. Before going Colonel Miles was relieved from his command of the left wing, and the following order, written on the back of a visiting card, was handed to Colonel Davies:

Colonel Davies is consigned to the command of the left wing, as the
troops are now formed. By command,

J. B. FRY, A. A. G.

_July 21._

Under this running order Colonel Davies assumed command of all that was left of the army in Centreville, and marched them in good order to Alexandria and Washington, Blenker’s division being the last to leave the field. This gallant officer had been among the bravest and most resolute in protecting the retreat, and had by his firmness held the enemy in check during the afternoon and evening.

THE BATTLE-FIELD AT NIGHT.

At night the calm air, the gently falling dew, visited that blasted earth sweetly as they had done the night before, when the valley was fresh with verdure and beautiful with thrifty crops. But the scene it presented was O, how different! In mercy the deep shadows cast by the woods concealed its worst features, and the smoke had risen so densely between earth and sky that the moon looked down upon it mournfully, through a veil. The battle-field was still, save when the solemn shiver of the leaves came like a painful and mighty sigh, or the troubled waves of the Run continued it in hoarser murmurs. If human moans broke the stillness, they were lost on that vast field, and only heard by the pitying angels.

But solitary lights wandered over the field, like stars dropped by a merciful heaven to light the departing souls through the valley and shadow of death. They were indeed heavenly rays, for all that is divine in human mercy sent them forth. Kind men, and more than one heroic woman carried them from point to point over that dreary battle-field, searching among the dead for those who, breathing yet, might suffer for water or Christian comfort.

There was a house on the hill-top where Griffin’s battery had stood, and where the Connecticut troops had planted the stars and stripes in their last desperate charge. Through all the fight, a helpless and frightened family had found precarious shelter in their own dwelling. The household was composed of a son, a daughter, and the mother, a gentle Christian woman, who had been confined to her bed for years. There was no hopes of flight for her, poor soul, and neither son nor daughter would abandon her when the storm of battle was at their threshold. Hoping to find a place of safety, the devoted children carried her to a neighboring ravine, sheltering her with their own persons.

But this spot became at last more dangerous than the house. So the harassed children took their parent back to her home, and placing her in bed again, stood to screen her from the bullets that broke like hail through the walls and windows. While her house was riddled with cannon balls and musket shot, and the missiles of death plunged through her chamber and into her bed, three bullets pierced her frail person. Still she outlived the battle tempest that raged around her, a tempest that she had not even dreamed of approaching her dwelling when that fatal day dawned upon it. When the night came on she died peacefully, and the troubled moon looked down on a mournful scene here also. Within the riddled walls and under the torn roof, this gentle woman lay, in a quieter sleep than she had known for many a long night, and by her bed knelt the bereaved children who had dared so much, weeping that a life so peaceful should have met that violent ending. Painful as this was, there lay many poor soldiers on the field that hour, whose children would never have the privilege of weeping over them.

In an orchard of young trees, just forming their fruit, lay many a prostrate Southron, sent to his long account; for the enemy had suffered terribly there. The northern verge of the field was blackened by a fine grove in which a Georgia regiment had fought, and under its black shadows the dead lay thick and numerous. Here Lamar had fallen, and many a brave Northman slept side by side with the foe he had sent into eternity but a moment in advance of himself. The fatal hill, scorched and blackened in every tree and blade of grass, was strewn with the dead of both sections, among them some of the bravest leaders that the enemy boasted.

There have been rumors of great cruelty on the battle-field after the fight was over—of men prowling like fiends among the dead, and murdering the wounded; but these things should be thrice proven before we believe them of American citizens. Rumor is always triple-tongued, and human nature does not become demoniac in a single hour. One thing is certain, many an act of merciful kindness was performed that night, which an honest pen should prefer to record. Certain it is that Southern soldiers in many instances shared their water—the most precious thing they had—with the wounded Union men. A soldier passing over the field found two wounded combatants lying together—one was a New Yorker, the other a Georgian. The poor wounded fellow from New York cried out piteously for water, and the Georgian, gathering up his strength, called out: “For God’s sake give him drink; for I called on a New York man for water when his column was in retreat, and he ran to the trench at the risk of his life and brought it to me!”

One brave young enemy lost his life after passing through all the perils of the battle, in attempting to procure drink for his wounded foes.

If there were individual instances of cruelty on either side, and this is possible—let us remember that there was kindness too; and when the day shall come—God grant it may be quickly—when we are one people again, let the cruelty be forgiven and the kindness only remembered.

And now our record of the battle of Bull Run is at an end. It was valiantly contended on both sides, and won only from superior numbers and reinforcements of fresh troops, poured upon the exhausted soldiery of the Union. To gain this contest the South sent her best and very bravest generals. Her forces were led by Beauregard and Johnston, both experienced officers. They were also cheered by the near presence of Jefferson Davis, who came upon the field when the victory was assured, amid the shouts of a soldiery, the more enthusiastic because they had just been rescued from almost certain defeat. They had the choice of position and had fortified it with wonderful skill; a thorough knowledge of the country, and troops unwearied by long marches—indeed, the advantages were altogether on their side. The North, never dreaming that an open rebellion would break out, was utterly dependant on undisciplined troops; while the South, having premeditated resistance to the Government, had been drilling men for months, if not years. There was no one point except in the actual bravery of their leaders and soldiers in which the enemy was not superior to the Union forces. In personal valor the Southerners themselves have never claimed to surpass that exhibited in this battle by their foes.

The smallest estimate of the forces actually engaged on the Southern side is eighteen thousand—while the Union forces which crossed Bull Run did not at any time count more than thirteen thousand. One brigade of McDowell’s eighteen thousand was not in the action, except in a vain effort to check the retreat. This brigade, of General Tyler’s division, was stationed at Stone Bridge, and never advanced upon the actual battle-field. The attack repulsed by Davies on the left wing, at Blackburn’s Ford, took place nearly two hours after the army was in retreat.

In the loss of officers, the enemy was even more unfortunate than the Union army. The fall of General Bee, one of the bravest of their leaders, Bartow, Colonel Thomas, Colonel Hampton, Colonel Johnson, Lamar, and others, shed a gloom upon their victory, and greatly weakened their cause in the future. The Union loss was heavy, for the men who fell or were taken prisoners were among the bravest that marched with the army, but the loss of officers by death was inferior to that of the enemy, and though Corcoran and Wilcox were wounded and taken prisoners, they were not lost to their country. In ordnance and munitions of war the conquest was less important than might have been supposed. Many of the Union guns were rescued from the field during the next day. Of the fine horses attached to the ordnance a large proportion were killed, and others were saved by their drivers, who cut the traces, and rode them from the scene of battle. The loss in killed and wounded on the Union side, was 481 killed, 1,011 wounded, and 1,216 missing: total, 2,708. That of the enemy numbered, by Beauregard’s report, 393 killed, 1,200 wounded.

The victory was a very important one to the South, as it gave prestige and force to a rebellion which, had the position of things been reversed, would, it is probable, have expired before the year went out. But in the North it only served to arouse the people to a pitch of excitement hitherto unparalleled; if troops had been sent forth in regiments before, they came in brigades after that defeat.

WESTERN VIRGINIA.

Virginia has three grand divisions, viz.: the Eastern Section, extending from tide-water up to the Blue Ridge Mountains; the Great Valley between the Blue Ridge and the Alleghanies; Western Virginia, stretching from the Great Valley to the Ohio river.

The contest between the people of the eastern and western portions of the State for supremacy had been one of long duration, dating back for many years. Internal improvements appear to have been the cause of this dissension—Western Virginia claiming that the East had enjoyed and been benefitted by them hitherto exclusively. In this jealousy the inhabitants of the Valley sympathized, and the completion of the James River and Kanawha Canal to the Ohio aroused a feeling of such bitter rivalry, that even the Governor favored the project of a division of the State. Added to this was the complaint of unequal taxation. The eastern portion being the large slaveholding district, paid _per capita_, without regard to value, while the wealth of the western, consisting of land and stock, was taxed _ad valorem_. This strife, of necessity, was carried from the people into the Legislature, and stormy debates followed. The feeling of the West on the slavery question, also, added fuel to the flame, and the loyalty of that section was attacked.

In the State Convention which passed the ordinance of secession, the western delegates took a firm and bold stand against it. When the Act was about to be consummated, great excitement prevailed in regard to the action of the western members, both inside and out of the Convention, and some of them were obliged to leave Richmond. In May, when the ordinance was submitted to the people, the north-western counties voted largely against it.

A Convention assembled at Wheeling, and a committee was appointed, which called a General Convention to convene at the same place on the 11th of June. Forty counties were represented there, and an ordinance was passed for the reorganization of the State Government, every officer to be obliged to swear allegiance anew to the United States, and to repudiate the Richmond Convention. A Governor, Lieutenant-Governor, and other State officers were elected, and the Legislature was summoned “to assemble at the United States District Courtroom in the city of Wheeling, at noon, on the first day of July, 1861.” Both houses met and organized. The Governor’s Message was sent intogether with a document from Washington, officially recognizing the new Government. The message recommended an energetic co-operation with the Federal Government. United States Senators were then elected.

On the 20th of August, the Convention passed an ordinance creating a new State, to be called “Kanawha.” It included thirty-nine counties, and provision was made for the admission of other adjoining counties, if a majority of the people of each desired it. The question of forming a separate State was submitted to the popular vote on the 24th of October, and resulted in favor of the proposition by a large majority. Since that time other counties have signified a desire to be admitted.

Western Virginia became the scene of military operations directly after the war broke out, following in close order upon the occupation of Alexandria. On the 30th of May Colonel Kelly took possession of Grafton, and the occupation of Phillipi followed but a few days subsequently. Federal troops also crossed the Ohio and entered Parkersburgh. General McClellan had command of this portion of the State, it being included in the Ohio district, and issued his proclamation to the Union men of Virginia.

A series of offensive and defensive events now followed each other in rapid succession, exhibiting bravery and determination unparalleled in history—individual heroism and uncomplaining endurance of suffering—rapid marches and brilliant charges, that shine in letters of fire upon the pages of our war history, and threw the prestige of early victory about the northern arms. It was here that McClellan won his first laurels—here that chivalric Lander met a soldier’s death—here that Kelly was wounded, till for weeks and weeks his life was despaired of. In fact, Western Virginia is covered with victorious Union battle-fields. She has indeed given their greenest laurels to many of our generals.

The military department of Ohio, in which Western Virginia was included, was organized on the tenth of May, and Major-General George B. McClellan appointed to the command. His headquarters were at Cincinnati. On the 26th of the same month he issued his first proclamation, declaring that his mission was one of fraternity, union, and protection, and called upon all patriotic men to aid him in his endeavors to accomplish this holy purpose. The proclamation produced a marked effect. Colonel Kelly, of Wheeling, Virginia, had prior to that date organized a regiment for the defence of the Union, known as the “First Virginia Volunteers.”

On Friday, the 24th of May, about twelve hundred rebels had assembled and marched from Harper’s Ferry to Grafton, a town on the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, and forced many citizens to abandon their homes and fly for safety, leaving their property to be pillaged by the enemy. About one hundred of the fugitives reached Morgantown. The inhabitants of that place, warned of their danger, immediately flew to arms and prepared for a vigorous defence. Finding that they were not to be molested, and burning for revenge, they marched, 1000 strong—their ranks having been swelled by friends from Pennsylvania—towards Grafton.

The rebels became alarmed and fled to Philippi, in Bourbon county, about 17 miles southward. On Monday, the 27th, detachments of Ohio and Indiana troops crossed the Ohio river at Wheeling and at Marietta, on their way, also, to Grafton. Simultaneously, Colonel Kelly’s regiment of Virginians moved forward in the same direction, but the bridges having been destroyed, their march was delayed. At every point, and especially at Mannington and Fairmount, they were received with great enthusiasm and hailed as deliverers.

BATTLE OF PHILLIPI.

Brigadier-General Thomas A. Morris arrived at Grafton on the evening of June 1st, and took command of the Union forces. An expedition was immediately organized to surprise and attack the rebels at Philippi, under the command of Colonel Porterfield. The troops left in two divisions. The First Virginia regiment, part of the Ohio Sixteenth, and the Seventh Indiana, under Colonel Kelly, moved eastward, by rail to Thornton, a distance of five miles, and from there marched on twenty-two miles, to Phillipi, reaching the town on the lower side. The second division, consisting of the Sixth and Seventh Indiana, the Fourteenth Ohio, and a section of artillery under Lieutenant-Colonel Sturgis, met by detachments at Webster, on the North-western Virginia railroad, and marched twelve miles to Phillipi. The combined forces were commanded by Colonels Dumont and Lander, and at eight o’clock on the night of the 2d of June marched forward through one of the most overwhelming storms known to our country that year. Lander had been detailed to a special command by General Morris, and in the terrible march that followed, through darkness, mud and rain he led the way, sometimes exploring the route three miles ahead of his forces, in the midst of profound darkness, and through mud so deep and tenacious that every forward step was a struggle. The men followed, bravely toiling through the miry soil, staggering forward in thick darkness, and pelted by the rain so violently that they could not have seen the road had it been daylight. Still, not a murmur was heard. Against the whole force of the elements the brave fellows struggled on, eager for the storm of fire which was soon to follow the deluge that poured upon them. Now and then Lander’s majestic form, seated upon his charger, would loom upon them through the darkness, returning from his scouting duty to cheer them with his deep, sympathetic voice, which aroused them like a trumpet. Thus they moved on, supported by one stern purpose, through woods, across valleys, and over hills, the storm drowning their approach till they drew up on the edge of the town overlooking the enemy. But it was not altogether a surprise. Just before they reached the town the troops had passed a farm-house. A woman within that house sprang from her bed as she saw the lines of troops filing slowly by in the misty gray of the dawn, and guessed their object. She instantly aroused her little son and sent him by a short cross-road to give the alarm. The boy was quick of foot, but the hopes of conflict had so aroused the energies of these jaded men that he was but a few minutes in advance of them.

Lander’s troops took position on a hill across the river and below the town, commanding it and the encampments around. He at once planted two pieces of artillery, and prepared to open fire at exactly four o’clock, the hour agreed upon for the attack, which was to be made at once by both divisions. Lander was to assault them in front, while Kelly was to attack the rear and cut off all retreat. But Lander found his division alone before the enemy. The terrible night, the almost impassable roads, and a march of twenty-two miles had delayed Kelly’s forces, and when he did arrive it was to come in by mistake below the town.

The presence of Lander’s troops aroused the town and threw it into terrible commotion. In vain Lander searched the distant hills, impatient for Kelly’s appearance. The hour of attack had arrived and passed. The men became impatient as their leader, who, in his indomitable courage commenced the battle with a portion of his forces.

When Lander gave the order his eager men sprang to their posts, and the artillery opened fire. As the first gun awoke its thunder on the encampments, Kelly advanced, but in the wrong direction. He instantly comprehended Lander’s action, and with prompt courage charged upon the encampments. The batteries had by this time obtained the range, and were pouring in their messengers of terror and death, tearing through tents and cabins, and scattering the rebels like chaff in every direction. After firing a volley of musketry, Lander advanced.

Colonel Kelly’s command was close upon the enemy, the Virginia troops in advance, the Henry Clay Guards in front, and Colonel Kelly and Captain Fordyce leading, while Colonel Lander’s force came rushing down the hill to the bridge and joined in an impetuous pursuit of the fugitives. Colonel Kelly, who, with a bravery amounting almost to rashness, had been foremost from the very first, was shot by a concealed foe, the ball entering the left breast and lodging beneath the shoulder blade. As his men conveyed him to a place of safety, this brave man, while in the agony of his pain, exclaimed, “I expect I shall have to die. I would be glad to live, if it might be, that I might do something for my country, but if it cannot be, I shall have at least the consolation of knowing that I fell in a just cause.” But he was not destined to be cut off in the zenith of his fame and usefulness. After a few weeks of danger and anguish he was again performing noble duty for the country he loved so well.

In this dashing victory fifteen of the rebels were killed, a large number wounded, and ten taken prisoners, together with a quantity of camp equipage, arms, &c. The organization of the rebels at that point was completely broken up, and the men driven to the mountains.

GREAT DESTRUCTION OF RAILROAD PROPERTY.

The bitter animosity of the rebel army was strikingly illustrated on the 23d July, by the destruction of a large number of locomotives and cars of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad by secession troops under the command of Colonel Thomas J. Jackson. Forty-eight locomotives and three hundred cars were blown up or burned, one of the engines having been previously wrapped in our national ensign. The road had been rendered impassable by the destruction of bridges, and, therefore, the rolling stock could not have been rendered available. The estimated loss was about three-quarters of a million of dollars.

GENERAL McCLELLAN IN WESTERN VIRGINIA.

General McClellan, during the time that elapsed since his appointment, had been actively engaged in organizing his forces and getting them ready for efficient service. Scouting parties—an important feature of his department—were detailed for service, and raw troops replaced by experienced men. Colonel Kelly, who was now recovering from the wounds received at Phillipi, had been appointed by Governor Pierpont to the command of the Virginia brigade of volunteers. Gens. Morris, Hill, Schenck and Schleich were assigned their respective positions—the telegraph lines were put in order, and new ones for military purposes were constructed where necessary. The arrival of fresh regiments, among which Colonel Rosecranz made his appearance, added great activity to the department. On the side of the enemy were Generals Robert S. Garnett, Henry A. Wise, Ex-Governor, John B. Floyd, Ex-Secretary of War, and Colonel Pegram.

Columns of Federal troops were dispatched to attack the enemy, simultaneously, at three different points, and the first collision between them occurred on the 10th of July.

BATTLE OF SCAREYTOWN.

A brigade of rebels under Governor Wise, crossed the Alleghanies to the head-waters of the Kanawha, with the intention of attacking the rear of McClellan’s forces, while General Garnett was prepared to meet him in front. General Cox had been dispatched to this section with a considerable force of Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky troops, and was encamped on the Kanawha about ten miles below its junction with Scarey Creek. Hearing that a portion of the rebel force had taken position at Scareytown, but four miles above his camp, on the other side of the river, and were entrenching themselves there, General Cox dispatched a force of about 1,000 men, consisting of the Twelfth Ohio, a portion of the Twenty-first Ohio, the Cleveland Artillery, and a detachment of cavalry, all under the command of Colonel Lowe, to dislodge the rebels if practicable. The column was ferried across the stream, and moved cautiously onward, the scouts scouring the country as they advanced. The enemy was found to be entrenched on the opposite side of Pocatallico Creek, here intersecting the Kanawha, protected by breastworks, and also sheltered by woods, about half way up a slope of high hills, having two pieces of artillery in position, while a portion of their infantry had possessed themselves of ten or twelve log huts, constituting the village of Scareytown, in which they had improvised loop-holes. The Federal troops were met by a discharge from the rebel battery as soon as they made their appearance; but the artillery of Captain Cotton soon got in position, and returned the fire of the enemy with good effect. The infantry were now ordered to advance, and rushed fearlessly across the stream, which was fordable, in the face of a heavy fire. The left wing, composed of portions of the Twelfth and Twenty-first Ohio, had reached the enemy’s entrenchments, but being unsupported by the right, and a fresh regiment of the rebels appearing on the ground, they were compelled to retreat, leaving many of their dead and wounded on the field.

The loss of the Federal forces by this engagement was nine killed, thirty-eight wounded, and three missing. Of the rebel loss we have no record.

A great misfortune of the day, however, was the capture of five of the principal officers of General Cox’s command, who were not attached to the expedition.

Colonels Woodruff and De Villers, Lieutenant-Colonel Neff, and Captains Austin and Hurd, prompted by an eager desire to witness the engagement in which they were not assigned a part, rode up the banks of the river to its junction with the creek, and hearing a loud shout, were led to believe that the Federal forces were victorious. They procured a skiff, crossed the creek, and inadvertently strayed within the enemy’s lines, where they were all made prisoners.

HOW THE ENEMY WAS TO BE ATTACKED.

General Garnett had at this time nearly 10,000 men under his command, and occupied a position at Beverly, on Tygart’s Valley river, Randolph Co., in a valley of the Alleghany Mountains. Two good roads unite at an acute angle at this place, one leading westwardly to Buckhannon, and the other north-west to Phillipi. A mountainous ridge crosses both these roads in front of Beverly, and at each point of intersection General Garnett had an intrenched camp. The first was on the road to Buckhannon, called the Rich Mountain Camp, under command of Colonel Pegram; and the second, on the road to Phillipi, called Laurel Hill Camp, under General Garnett’s personal command.

Early on the morning of the 11th of July, General Rosecrans was dispatched to attack Colonel Pegram, and dislodge him from his position. General Morris was to make a simultaneous movement on the position held by General Garnett.

BATTLE AT RICH MOUNTAIN.

JULY 12, 1862.

The rebel entrenchments at Rich Mountain were very strong in their position, and were evidently to be taken only by a great sacrifice of life. They had rolled great trees down the steep sides of the mountain, and banding their branches into a general entanglement, filled the open spaces with earth and stones. The dense forest on all sides made the approach almost impassable. General Rosecranz was accordingly directed to attack them in their rear. For this purpose he took with him the Eighth and Tenth Indiana, and the Nineteenth Ohio, and under the leadership of an experienced guide, started about daylight to ascend the mountain. The path was exceedingly difficult and tedious, most of the distance being through thick laurel underbrush, almost impenetrable woods, and a broken, rocky region, which gave them a toilsome march of nearly nine miles. Meantime a courier from General McClellan with dispatches for General Rosecrans, had been captured by the rebels, who instantly took the alarm, and a body of 2,500 men were sent to the top of the mountain by a short route which they commanded, and on the arrival of the Union forces they stood ready for defence. The rebels had three cannon in place, and awaited the troops, facing that part of the road where they would emerge from the timber. For some time there was skirmishing, the rebels firing their cannon into the woods at random. The Union troops had no cannon, and left the sheltering trees only long enough to deliver a volley at any one time, and then retired back to the bushes. They thus succeeded in drawing the enemy from his earthworks, and leading him into the open fields, where the encounter took place.

BATTLE OF RICH MOUNTAIN.
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Colonel Lander called for twenty sharpshooters, who speedily left the cannon without men to work them. Their places were filled by others, when the Nineteenth Ohio, which had gained a position on high ground in the rear, poured in a tremendous volley, and giving loud cheers, rushed forward for a closer struggle. The Eighth and Tenth immediately charged upon the guns and carried them, and then the entire entrenchment. The enemy found it impossible to resist the impetuous and daring onset, and broke up instantly in a total rout. The action was short, but fiercely contested. One hundred and forty rebels were found killed, while the Federal loss was only twenty-five or thirty.

The victors attempted to follow the flying enemy, but after proceeding a short distance were recalled, and formed in line, in anticipation of an attack from the fort, at the foot of the mountain. It appeared, however, that when their cannon ceased firing they gave up all as lost, and deserted their works. General Rosecranz remained on the field burying the dead, and taking care of the wounded, till next morning, when he marched down to the fort with his forces, and took possession. Several hundred prisoners were taken on the field, and Colonel Pegram, after wandering about nearly two days without finding a chance to escape, surrendered unconditionally to General McClellan, with the remnant of his command, numbering six hundred men.

BATTLE OF CARRICK’S FORD.

JULY 13, 1861.

While these stirring events were transpiring, General Garnett, hearing of the combined movements, and conscious that he would be unable to maintain his position, or make a successful retreat if defeated, withdrew his forces from the Laurel Hill camp, and was proceeding towards Beverly, when he received intelligence of the surrender of Colonel Pegram and the rapid advance of General Rosecranz, accompanied by the intrepid Colonel Lander, towards the spot he was himself approaching. He then struck off on the Leading Creek Pike, half a mile from Leadsville, and commenced a rapid retreat towards St. George, in Tucker county.

General Morris’s brigade entered the rebel camp at Beverly at 10 A. M. of Friday, the 12th of July. At 11 o’clock the Federal troops detailed to follow General Garnett started in pursuit, under Captain Benham. The advance comprised Colonel Steedman’s Ohio Fourteenth, Colonel Milroy’s Ninth and Colonel Dumont’s Seventh Indiana, and two pieces of artillery, with forty men—total about eighteen hundred and fifty. At two o’clock on the morning of the 13th they set out in a pitiless storm, guided by the baggage, tents, trunks, blankets, knapsacks, and clothing thrown away by the enemy. The roads had been obstructed by the retreating foe. A guide, however, led them by a cross-road, which enabled them to gain rapidly on the enemy. On reaching the track again, it was found necessary to keep an advance of axemen to clear the obstructions. This was performed with the greatest zeal and alacrity, while the storm raged furiously around them.

About noon General Garnett had reached and passed Kahler’s Ford, twelve miles from St. George. When the advance of the Federal troops emerged from the ford they caught sight of the rear of the enemy, and they were instantly nerved with new life. The retreating Southerners were also excited, and redoubled their speed, if possible, throwing away everything that encumbered their progress. General Garnett had become thoroughly convinced that there was no alternative but to make a stand, and thus test the question of superiority without delay. He continued his course, however, until he came to the fourth ford on the river, known as Carrick’s Ford, and prepared to receive his pursuers. On the left bank of the river were level bottom lands, cornfields, and meadows. On the right high bluffs commanded the fields below, and its bank was thickly hedged in with impenetrable thickets of laurel. Fording the river, and placing his men on the high bluff on the right, they were completely concealed, while the situation gave his artillery every advantage. The wagon train was left standing in the river, evidently to mislead his pursuers with the idea that they were unable to cross the rocky bed of the stream. The Federal troops advanced to seize the train, and were consequently within range of his artillery on the bluff.