From Bull Run to Seven Pines.

"Only a boy! and his father had said
He never could let his youngest go;
Two already were lying dead
Under the feet of the trampling foe."

As the advance guard of the Federal army entered Alexandria, Va., on the south side of the Potomac, a Confederate flag was seen floating from the roof of a hotel kept by one Jackson. Col. Elsworth, commanding the advance force, hauled it down. Jackson shot him dead, and was in turn killed by Elsworth's soldiers. This, I believe, was the first blood shed on Virginia soil.

As McDowell moved his army toward Manassas, Johnston fell back toward Winchester, so as to be in a position to reinforce Beauregard if it became necessary.

Before McDowell had reached Fairfax Courthouse the greater portion of Johnston's army was en route for Manassas. So closely did Johnston conceal his movements that Patterson was not aware that Johnston had left his front until it was too late to follow him. The little army at Leesburg also marched rapidly to Manassas.

These united Confederate armies numbered about 27,000 men. McDowell's army, as I have stated, numbered 35,000.

In order to be prepared for an emergency, the Governor of Virginia had called the militia from the counties adjacent to Manassas to assemble at that place. That included my county. I joined the militia and marched to Manassas, arriving there a few days before the battle.

There was skirmishing for some days between the advanced forces of the two armies, but the real battle was fought on Sunday, July 21, 1861.

My command took no part in this battle, but it was in line of battle in the rear of the fighting forces, ready to take part if its services were needed.

Soldiers, like sailors, are superstitious. As the hour for the battle drew near, those of a mystical turn of mind saw, or thought they saw, a strange combination of stars in the heavens. Some said, "I never saw the moon look that way before." Clouds assumed mysterious shapes. Some saw in them marching armies, and other fearful phenomena. A strange dog was seen one night passing in and out the various camps into the officers' tents and out again as if he were numbering the men. This created no little comment. The dog was all unconscious of the excitement he was creating. He had simply lost his master, but his manner appeared ominous to those who were looking for the mystical. These are the kind of soldiers that run at the first fire. They are found in all armies.

I have always claimed that I am not superstitious, but I must admit that there is an atmosphere that hangs around the camp on the eve of an approaching battle that is well calculated to give one's imagination full play. The doctors examining their medical chests, packages of white bandages and lint arriving, the movement of the ambulances, the unusual number of litters that come into view, the chaplains a little more fervent in their prayers, officers, from the commanding general down to the lowest rank, more reserved and less approachable. Even the horses seem to be restive, or we imagine them to be so. In fact, everything takes on a different attitude. The very air appears to be laden with an indescribable something that makes every individual soldier feel himself lifted up into a position of responsibility quite different from the place he occupied when loitering around the camp with the enemy far away from the front.

This was the state of things as I saw them in and around Manassas on the eve of the first battle of Bull Run. Before the rising of the sun on that beautiful Sabbath day, July 21, 1861, the cannon could be heard in the distance, which told us that the two combatants had locked horns. All day long we could hear the booming of the guns and see the smoke of the battle over the tops of the low pines in our front, and I was ever so anxious to get closer and see the real thing, but soldiers cannot go just where they may desire, especially when a great battle is in progress.

Early in the day I saw what thrilled me no little. It was the first blood I had ever seen shed on a battlefield. I saw coming across the field, moving quite slowly, a man leading a horse. As they approached I saw that the horse was limping, and the man was a soldier. The horse was badly wounded and bleeding, and seemed to be in great pain. Whenever the man would stop the horse would attempt to lie down. I wanted to go to him and put my arms around his neck and tell him he was a hero. The man and the horse passed by, for there was too much going on to allow a single wounded horse to absorb all of one's attention.

Toward the afternoon news came in from the front that our army was beaten and was in full retreat.

Every available man was called from the camp, and a second line of defense was formed, behind which the retreating army could rally and make another stand. It was then that I began to realize what war was.

About five o'clock a soldier came across the field from the front with a gun on his shoulder. As he came up to our line someone asked him how the battle was going. He replied, "We've got them on the trot." Then there was wild cheering; the soldier was right. McDowell's army was beaten and in full retreat toward Washington. It proved to be the worst rout that any army suffered during the Civil War.

At one stage of the battle it looked very doubtful for our side. Beauregard believed that he was beaten, and had ordered his forces to fall back, calling on Johnston to cover his retreat. But the arrival of Elzey's brigade of Johnston's army upon the field just at this psychological moment turned the battle in our favor. A member of the First Maryland Regiment, forming a part of this brigade, has given me a graphic description of how the brigade was hurried from the railroad station at Manassas, across the fields for five miles under the hot July sun, the men almost famished for water and covered with dust, most of the distance at double-quick, toward the firing line, from which the panic-stricken Confederates were fleeing in great disorder. But I shall only narrate what I saw myself, and will not quote farther, however interesting it may be. A train came down from Richmond about three o'clock, bringing the President of the Confederacy, Jefferson C. Davis, and fresh troops, but they arrived too late to be of any special service. I saw the President as he mounted a gray horse, with a number of other prominent Confederates from Richmond, and move off toward the battlefield.

A short time after this they began to bring in the wounded from the front. I stood by and saw the pale face and glassy eyes of Gen. Bee as they took him dying from the ambulance and carried him into a house near the Junction. It was he who an hour or so before had said to his retreating troops, "Look at Jackson; he stands like a stone wall." That night Gen. Bee died, and Jackson was ever known afterward as "Stonewall Jackson."

Yes, the Union army was beaten, and their retreat developed into a disastrous rout, although they were not pursued by the Confederates.

"While there was great rejoicing all over the South on account of this splendid victory gained by our raw recruits, there was no noisy demonstrations. Crowds thronged the streets, but no bonfires lit up the darkness of the night. No cannon thundered out salutes. The church steeples were silent, except when in solemn tone they called the people to prayer."

The next day the Confederate Congress met and passed the following resolutions:

"We recognize the hand of the most high God, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, in the glorious victory with which he has crowned our armies at Manassas, and that the people of these Confederate States are invited by appropriate services on the ensuing Sabbath to offer up their united thanksgiving and prayers for this mighty deliverance."

The losses in men were as follows: Union army, 3000; Confederates, 2000. The latter captured 27 cannon, 1500 prisoners, an immense quantity of small arms, ammunition, stores, etc.

I promptly laid aside my flint-lock musket and took a Springfield rifle.

I am often amused as I remember some of the thoughts that passed through my mind, and some of the things I did on this momentous occasion. For instance, we were ordered to "sleep on our arms" the night whose dawn was to usher in the battle. I had heard a good deal about soldiers obeying orders. I thought of "the boy who stood on the burning deck," so when I laid down that night with old Mother Earth for a bed, I found myself stretched out at full length on top of my musket. It was a little rough, but the mere thought of being a soldier and "sleeping on my arms" on the eve of battle made my bed feel as soft as a bed of roses. And then the gun! It was an old flint-lock musket, minus the flint, and no powder or ball. But I was at least a soldier and had a gun, and would surely see the battle and could write home all about it. A soldier seldom ever thinks that he will be among the slain; he may be wounded, or taken prisoner, but it is always the other fellow that is going to be killed.