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Blackburn’s Ford
18 July 1861, Thursday, 0700
Hot ‘n humid was the weather report. It was supposed to reach into the upper
90’s by this afternoon. Gen Daniel Tyler, commander of the First Division, was hoping
to find water ahead near Centerville. Acting as the tip of the northern spear, his men
would move from just north of the Fairfax County Courthouse onto Centreville, moving
into position to finally engage the enemy.
At 0700, Tyler ordered Col Richardson’s Fourth Brigade to take the lead toward
Centerville. Col Richardson, recently married, was the only man in the entire army with
his wife accompanying him.
One private with the 12th New York named Robert was talking to his squad
members. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His friend, Jerry, asked, “Why was that?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about home.”
“Yeah, it’s hard being away from home for the first time. You have a big
family?”
“Yes, I had two brothers and two sisters. My older brother is on the other side.”
Jerry looked puzzled. “On the other side of what?”
Robert closed his eyes as if pained by the explanation. “He joined the Rebs and is
fighting for the other side.” The other soldiers chimed in.
“Bob, you can’t worry about that. We have to keep focused on our job.”
“Yeah, Big Bob, your brother is probably in Richmond or somewhere far from
here.”
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Robert interrupted them. “I appreciate your thoughts, boys, but my mom wrote
me that he was serving with Gen Beauregard just outside Manassas.”
Jerry changed the subject. “I heard that Col Richardson’s wife got one of the
quartermasters fired because he was messin’ with her honey in her beehive that she
brought from back home.”
“Holy cow! I reckon’ she has more rank than the colonel.”
Robert agreed, “You sure don’t want to mess with her. Just be sure you give her a
wide berth and stay out of her way.”
Jerry laughed, “Yeah, sure. That’s so you can watch her all by yourself. We’ve
been noticin’ how you have been moonin’ over her.”
“Well, I’m not denying that she’s a very beautiful lady. And, if you haven’t
noticed, there aren’t too many women out here in the field.”
“I hear tell, there’s some here in our division, dressed up as men.”
Robert shivered. “If they look like you guys, that’s not goin’ to work for me.”
Jerry asked, “Isn’t it against regulations for a wife to be in the war zone?”
Everybody looked at each other, not certain what the answer was.
Robert stated, “Well, if it ain’t, it should be. Unless she picks up a weapon and is
willing to join us in battle, she will just be in the way.”
Jerry mentioned, “Well, I guess she keeps the colonel happy. He hasn’t been as
grouchy of recent.”
Robert countered, “That ain’t enough to make it legal.”
“Well, it’s no skin off my nose.” Jerry scratched his nose.
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“Well, if you keep scratching, it will be skin off your nose.” The squad started
laughing again.
Jerry grinned. “Maybe, we’re just jealous.”
“Well, I think the colonel ain’t as grouchy because he brought his family with
him. Wish I coulda brought mine. I’m starting to get real homesick.” Robert started
packing his bedroll.
Col Richardson had Capt H.J. Hunt with the Second US Artillery move cautiously
forward with two of his rifled twenty-pound field guns. The Union troops moved slowly
because of an incident earlier in the year when a Confederate “masked battery” had
surprised and crushed a Union force approaching Vienna. The newspapers had made a
big story about these “masked batteries” and how the Rebels had cannons hidden,
awaiting the Union advance. Even Gen McDowell had been concerned enough about it
that he told his commanders to avoid being surprised, more than anything else. This
made for a slower march and ate up time. Capt Hunt was positioned behind an advance
light battalion of infantry, ready to fire on any enemy batteries sighted.
By 0900, Col Richardson was in Centerville with only minor skirmishes. His
men were excited. They started to see war as something that could be fun. They looked
around and saw abandoned earthworks and trenches.
Robert was very excited. “This isn’t bad at all. I expect we will chase the Rebels
all the way to Richmond within a week.”
“Yeah. This ain’t so bad after all.”
Jerry had a big smile on his face. “I don’t mind this at all. I hope we march on to
Manassas today.”
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“Yeah. Those Rebels are running like whipped pups. They haven’t even tried to
stand up to us. They are scared to death of us.”
Confidence was running very high… too high. There was trouble waiting around
the corner.
18 July 1861, Thursday, 0900
The heat already was gathering in the Shenandoah Valley without any sign of
rain. In a word, it was muggy. Gen Jackson’s men had been up for hours, anticipating
some movement. The men were thinking. Are we going to attack Gen Patterson, now?
We’ve been here long enough. It’s time to take action!
Gen Johnston issued orders for J.E.B. Stuart to ride north toward Gen Patterson
obtain information on his location and prepare a reconnaissance report. Based on what
the cavalry discovered, Gen Johnston planned to use Stuart to screen his movements east
in an effort to join forces with Beauregard.
President Davis believed that the Confederates should avoid taking the offensive
against the Union troops, so he elected to conduct a defensive campaign. Davis was deep
in thought that morning, as well. I want the Northern forces to invade our homeland
because this will enlist the sympathy of the European powers, and they will join us in our
Confederate cause. The Rebel army must remain contained within the southern states in
a defensive mode. The northern resolve will weaken as they lose more soldiers, attacking
us on our turf, which gives us the advantage. We know the land better than they do, they
will have to stretch our their supply line to the breaking point, and we can erect defenses
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in front of them that will require them to sacrifice their troops, bleeding them to a point
of submission.
At the same moment, Gen Lee had other ideas. He was focused on conducting an
offensive campaign against the Union forces in the field, but managing his generals was
like herding cats. My generals are coming up with interesting, but complex strategies.
Gen Beauregard wants Gen Johnston to move 65 miles from Winchester and strike
McDowell’s right flank while he simultaneously attacks across Bull Run. Interesting
indeed, but it would require a perfect, coordinated effort.
Our troops are too
inexperienced for such a difficult maneuver. And Jackson wants to attack northern cities,
like Baltimore, and then encircle and lay siege on Washington. President Davis and
others want to take a defensive posture, which can be very effective in some engagements,
but it is a recipe for disaster if that is your only strategy for the war.
At the same time, Ol’ Jack was getting his men ready to make the 50-mile trip.
He knew how to get the most out of his men with the least coaxing. He didn’t ask them
to do something that he didn’t do right along with them… and many times more.
Jackson did believe that Davis and Lee were correct in sending Johnston to
Beauregard’s aid. If they were going to engage Gen McDowell, they needed all the
soldiers available in this effort to mass the most warriors in the field at the center of
gravity in the battle. This was a bold move and was the beginning of a victory by the
Confederates.
But Jackson knew that although winning the first major battle was
important, it wasn’t the complete answer. He wanted to attack the north’s weakness, its
cities. He believed that if the Confederate forces, which were not numerically superior,
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took Baltimore and surrounding areas in Maryland, then they could surround Washington
and trap the soldiers and the Union government, perhaps forcing them to surrender.
After Davis ordered Gen Johnston to head for Manassas Junction, if possible,
Jackson’s Brigade took the lead for Johnston’s Army, headed for Ashby’s Gap through
the Blue Ridge Mountains to join up with General Beauregard, who was facing General
McDowell of the Union Army, whose mission was to attack and move the Confederates
out of the Manassas Junction area and then push on further south toward Richmond, the
Confederate capital. McDowell would be a hero and the war would be over.
McDowell had about 35,000 poorly trained men, while Beauregard had only
about 22,000 poorly trained men.
Even with this advantage, McDowell was very
cautious and didn’t make his move until he was assured by Gen Scott that Johnston’s
Army of about 12,000 soldiers was back in Winchester, being held in place by Gen
Patterson’s 18,000 troops. But Johnston had a surprise for McDowell.
18 July 1861, Thursday, 1030
Gen Tyler questioned some of the locals and found out that the Confederates had
left the night before.
That morning he had received orders from Gen McDowell:
“Observe well the roads to Bull Run and to Warrenton. Do not bring on an engagement,
but keep up the impression that we are moving on Manassas.” McDowell planned to use
Tyler as a feint toward Beauregard’s center and then flank him with Colonel Samuel
Heintzelman’s Third Division moving to the southwest of Alexandria in an effort to get
around the Confederate eastern end of its six-mile defensive line.
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But Gen Tyler, who felt slighted when a younger inexperienced McDowell had
been appointed to be his commander in this engagement, seized the opportunity to
grandstand. It was his chance to route the rowdy Rebels, showing Lincoln and his
Cabinet, once and for all, that they had picked the wrong man to lead the Union forces to
victory. I can’t believe they picked a staffer from Ohio to lead us. Everybody knows that
Chase and the Ohio politicians were behind it. Moved a staffer up from a major to a
general. The way the Rebels are retreating, I might be able to move into Manassas by
nightfall. I’ll send Richardson ahead to see where the enemy is presently located.
Col Richardson moved his men about a mile west of Centerville and discovered
a deserted Rebel camp with access to a flowing stream. He rested his men.
Jerry dunked his canteen into the cold spring water and filled it up. He gulped the
cold water since his throat was dry. The dust was just now settling from their march.
“Omigod! That tastes good. I could drink a gallon of it.”
Robert slowed him down. “Just take it easy. Sip the water and don’t gulp it
down. My mother always told me that if you gulp cold water, it would give you a belly
ache.”
“Well, I would be happy to have a belly ache over dying of thirst.”
“Just take it easy.”
Jerry looked at him cross-eyed and started gulping more water.
“OK. Don’t forget that I told you so.”
“Forget what?”
Robert breathed loudly. “I give up.”
“That’s what the Rebels are going to say.”
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The veteran, regular army soldiers were very quiet. The teenage volunteers were
loud and boisterous, not knowing what was ahead.
Jerry noticed the difference. “Hey lookit’ them regulars. They sure don’t say
much. I reckon’ they know somethin’ we don’t.”
Robert was sarcastic. “You think?”
“Hey, Bob, whatcha think it’s gonna be like this afternoon?”
“I think we’re gonna kick some southern butts.”
“Yah think the Reb’s are gonna turn tail and run?”
“That’s what they’ve done so far.”
“That’s what I think too. We should be in Richmond in a few nights.”
Robert smiled. “That’s my bet. The Rebels just couldn’t put together any army.
You’ve seen this country and how poor it is. They don’t have enough resources or
money to stop us. It ain’t there fault that the big plantation owners have gotten them into
this war. I kinda feel sorry for them.”
“Yeah, I do too. Didja’ see the poor women with messed up hair and ragged
children all around them, hangin’ onta their skirts, starin’ at us out of their rickety ol’
houses. I don’t know how these poor farmers can scratch out a livin’ in this hard clay
soil.”
Jerry was anxious to move forward. “Well, General Tyler seems pretty confident
this afternoon. I think he’ll push the Rebs backwards like crayfish. I don’t even know if
we’ll have to fire a shot.”
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“We’ll see, but I sure am glad I’ll get to participate in this effort. This may be the
only battle of the war. I wouldn’t want to miss the next few days. The war will probably
be over soon after that.”
“Yeah, looks like those regulars would show just a little more excitement. How
often do you get to win a war in a week? That would be somethin’ to write home about,
wouldn’t it?”
Robert reasoned, “I reckon’ war is just a regular work day with them, so they
don’t get too worked up about war, even if it’s a short one.”
Jerry stated, “I believe we will win the war within a few weeks.”
“You’re pretty confident of that, huh?”
“Yep, we’ve got ‘em on the run.”
“So, you… commander Jerry… a cocky general… state with certainty that you
will win the war within a few weeks?”
“Yes, who wouldn’t?”
Robert thought a minute and then decided Jerry was right. Even Lincoln thought
the war would be over within a few months because he only enlisted most of the men for
90 days. All the newspapers said it would be over soon, and newspapers couldn’t be
wrong.
18 July 1861, Thursday, 1030
Gen Beauregard climbed on his horse and galloped down the dusty road from the
Manassas Railroad station to Wilmer McLean’s white, two-story wooden house,
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overlooking Bull Run. Mr. McLean had sent his family away several days before,
knowing that his home was likely to be in the middle of the upcoming battle.1
Mr. McLean’s slaves were in the separate kitchen preparing dinner for the general
and his staff. They were moving into his house and making it their new headquarters
since it surveyed three fords that could offer passage for the Union troops. Beauregard
calculated that McDowell would cross at Mitchell’s Ford, where he had positioned his
largest brigade commanded by Gen Bonham, farthest to the north. The ford named after
his family, McLean’s Ford, was to his right, where he positioned Gen Jones. Right in the
center of the two fords was Blackburn’s Ford, where Gen Longstreet awaited.
Mr. McLean was proud of his fine corn crop, which he could store in his corn
crib. He also had a corn grinder in his front yard that was the envy of the neighborhood.
His barn had been turned into a hospital where a yellow flag hung out the top, tossed
back and forth by the gentle breeze at the top of the hill where he had built his
improvements.
Beauregard arrived and had one of his staff take his horse. The general had a
bounce in his step typical of men with his high energy. Old Bory, as his men called him,
looked across Bull Run. McDowell will attack across Mitchell’s Ford because he will be
following Bonham in his retreat from Fairfax Courthouse and that’s the shortest path to
Manassas Junction.
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Mr. McLean would eventually move his family to Appomattox, Virginia, in an effort to get away from
the war; however, Generals Lee and Grant signed peace terms in the parlor of his house in 1865.
Interestingly enough, Mr. McLean’s houses were involved in the war from the beginning to the end.
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18 July 1861, Thursday, 1030
Capt McNeil was acting as a guide for Gen McDowell since he had assisted in the
surveying of the Orange & Alexandria railroad to the south and he was somewhat
familiar with the area. That morning, he was riding ahead of Gen Tyler’s troops in an
effort to reconnoiter the area.
He burst out of the woods into an open area where a group of men wearing blue
uniforms just like him were standing around. McNeil rode up to the men and asked them
where the general was. The men, Confederate troops in Col J.B. Kershaw’s 2nd South
Carolina regiment, had been positioned across the creek as pickets to detect early Union
movements. Capt McNeil was the earliest of the engagement. The Rebel soldiers were
puzzled by his question and asked him a question right back.
“Which general do you mean? Bonham or Beauregard?”
The poor captain was not thinking. He stammered, “Well, no. McDowell.”
At this point, everybody knew who each other was. Capt McNeil dug his spurs
into the side of the horse and gave him plenty of lead. He spurted back toward the safety
of the tree line, but the Confederate soldiers were aiming at him before he got out of their
range.
The minie balls went wizzing by his head, sounding like angry hornets. He only
got a few more yards before one of the musket balls crashed through his skull and entered
his brains, pushing them out his forehead. He dropped off the saddle and bounced twice
before landing in a clump of bluegrass as the first man to die in the Battle of Blackburn’s
Ford.
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18 July 1861, Thursday, 1200
Gen Tyler rode out from Centerville to confer with Col Richardson.
They
decided to continue on toward Bull Run, using Capt Brethschneider’s men as skirmishers
to clear out anything in front of them. After traveling several miles, they came out of the
woods and saw Blackburn’s and Mitchell’s Fords below them. The path diverged toward
the two separate fords: Blackburn on the left and Mitchell on the right.
Manassas
Junction was still about three miles away. Only small pockets of Rebels were sighted.
Gen Tyler later wrote: “I was perfectly astonished to find they had not occupied
this position…
The whole ground there, clear over almost into Manassas, was
commanded by that position.”
Gen Tyler was pondering what to do next. The Confederate army will continue to
fall back. That is their method of operating. Within a few hours, I could cross the river
below and be in Manassas. The headlines wouldn’t be too bad for my career, either. But
it would be the right thing to do for the Union, as well.
Gen Tyler turned to Col Richardson and told him to bring the rest of his troops
forward and unlimber two twenty-pound rifled field guns from the First US Artillery on
the crest of the slope overlooking Bull Run. Gen Tyler wanted to find out if there were
Rebels hiding in the woods below, so he ordered the rifled weapons to start firing on an
enemy battery sighted across the stream.
Since the Confederate’s cannon were
smoothbore and could not match the distance on rifled cannon, they only fired several
shots and then remained silent.
Tyler wondered why the Confederates did not respond. They’re either running
down the road like rabbits or they’re damned smart. He looked down the left branch of
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the road toward Blackburn’s Ford. Well, I guess we’re just going to have to send in the
infantry to see where you are… you Rebel rascals.
Tyler sent Capt Romeyan Ayres forward with two cannon, escorted by Capt A.G.
Brackett’s cavalry. Ayres unlimbered his rifled cannon and aimed at a house sitting atop
the hill across the creek.
18 July 1861, Thursday, 1230
Gen Beauregard was feisty this morning. He didn’t need strong, black coffee to
get him going. The excitement of the day was sufficient to motivate him. He paced
around the wooden floors in the McLean house like a cat looking to relieve itself. His
staff followed him around feeding him lots of “Yes, sir’s” and “Great idea, sir’s.”
Beauregard was always hungry for those comments.
This morning, he had some lofty ideas that were circling at the ceiling level.
“Gentlemen, ah think we kahn win this battle with ah coordinated attack on McDowell as
he crosses Mitchell’s Ford. We will pounce on him lihak two tigahs from both sides and
send him packin’ back to Washington with his tail tucked twist his legs.”
The staffers were like a well rehearsed chorus. “Yes, sir.” “Great idea, sir.”
The kitchen was in an adjacent log building, over 100 feet from the main house to
keep potential fires at a distance. That morning, the slaves on Mr. McLean’s farm were
preparing the noon dinner for Gen Beauregard and his staff. Smoke and good smells
were traveling together. A few of the staffers were outside, tending to the horses and
preparing for the afternoon. The battle could be today.
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The first cannon shot sounded from across Bull Run on a rise where the Union
soldier could be seen scurrying around the battery, reloading for additional shots. The
cannonball came blistering overhead like a small meteorite and landed in Mr. McLean’s
prize cornfield, roasting some ears earlier than anybody expected… both corn and human
ears.
Beauregard and his staffers ran to the windows, not a brilliant move, but they
would have a better vantage point if any cannon fire came through the windows. The
second shot plowed into the kitchen, destroying their meals and appetite. The logs were
splintered and the savory fresh vegetables and ham were splattered on the dirt floor. The
third shot completely demolished Mr. McLean’s corn grinder that was sitting in his front
yard. It menaced the Union army only by its location.
This was sufficient notice to Beauregard that McDowell was headed right for
Mitchell’s Ford. Ah wahs rite. Dammit, Ah wahs rite. Come on boys, let’s git to wahrk.
Beuregard and his staffers came pouring out of the house like ants under attack.
They mounted their horses and galloped toward Gen Bonham’s position on the west side
of Mitchell’s Ford, assured that the battle was underway.
Beauregard was so certain that the attack would be at this point that he had no
contingency plan. If McDowell did not attempt to cross at Mitchell’s Ford, he would
have to beat a hasty retreat south toward the Rappahannock River.
Gen Tyler was eyeing Blackburn’s Ford as a potential crossing.
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18 July 1861, Thursday, 1300
Col Richardson sent the 1st Massachusetts off to the right of Ayres’ battery,
overlooking the road to Blackburn’s Ford, and the 12th New York were only a few
minutes behind heading off to the left entering a heavily wooded area. The attack was
underway. Gen Tyler felt good about the decision.
Robert with the 12th NY felt very uneasy when he was ordered into the woods. It
was surrealistic as he eased into the deep shade and felt a damp coolness across his face.
At a distance, a river crow added its two familiar caws for emphasis, letting him know
that he was headed for Bull Run.
He opened his eyes wide in order to take in everything. He saw no movement
except for Union soldiers entering the thicket beside him. Within minutes, a hundred of
New York’s finest were struggling with a very difficult and uncertain terrain that
sometimes jerked their feet out from under them. Several surprised troops slide down the
hill on their backside.
Robert saw his friend Jerry and they nodded at each other. They both had dry
throats from the heat of summer and fear of what lay ahead. Fear of the unknown is
generally much worse than knowledge of what actually is in front of you. However, that
didn’t apply in this case. What lay ahead was much worse than what these youngsters
expected.
It was good seeing his friend… anything familiar in these eerie circumstances.
He saw Jerry slip and slide down the hill. A smile creased his face. He couldn’t resist,
“Jerry, you shoulda brought your sled.”
Jerry popped up. “I meant to do that. It gets you down the hill faster.”
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“Well, that last part is true.” Robert held onto a small sapling as he eased himself
down further the hill closer to Jerry. They were brothers in arms. There was comfort in
being next to your brother in arms.
Even though the sun only streaked through in spots, painting yellow stripes on the
forest floor, both Robert and Jerry were sweating. It was quite an exercise to weave
through the trees, maneuvering down a hill with about 50 pounds of equipment,
balancing a 15-pound musket. About half way down, they started bumping into large oak
trees. They stopped at one particularly big tree and took a break.
Robert wiped the sweat off his forehead, “No use killin’ ourselves.”
Jerry could only nod his head as he was gasping for air. He slumped down onto
the cool ground and warily surveyed the area. He heard another crow, but his time it was
the common American crow. He knew because it had more than two caws in a row.
Jerry was thinking. It’s too quiet. The crows were exiting and something had already
scared the other birds off. Earlier today, we heard all kinds of birds and squirrels in the
woods. No sign or squirrels or any other critters. They were hiding. This wasn’t a good
thing.
They saw other soldiers coming into view with their peripheral vision, but there
was no movement toward their front. Robert swallowed hard, squinting his eyes to focus
on any movement down the hill. After the rest, the two boys felt refreshed and they
continued their descent.
The first volley of musket fire echoed through the valley. They heard what they
thought was a swarm of hornets zipping overhead. But then Robert noticed some of the
soldiers dropping to their knees and then crashing to the ground in odd, contorted
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positions. He had seen his grandfather in a coffin, but he had never seen any other dead
people. Now, he saw death in a different way. It was sudden and gruesome… not
peaceful, at all. And it was reaching out and grabbing his friends in its clutches. Most of
these boys were teenagers, in the prime of their lives, now spilling out their life in an
unknown and foreign land.
The Union soldiers fired the first round that they had been waiting to use for
hours. After firing, Robert wondered what they were firing at. “Jerry, do you see
anything?”
“Nope. I don’t see nothin’.” Just then another thunderous volley crashed through
the undergrowth. Both Robert and Jerry fell on their backs. They struggled to move, like
turtles that had been flipped over on their shells. Laying down on their backs, they could
still reload their weapons.
Robert heard movement behind him, and he propped himself up on his elbows to
see what was going on. He saw about ten soldiers, standing in a single file behind one
large oak tree. First one would crane his neck to look around the tree as the line weaved,
then another would look around the other side of the tree until a minie ball would crash
into the tree, causing all of them to form a perfectly straight line again. Robert started
laughing.
Jerry poked him, “What’s so damn funny?”
Robert pointed at the line of kids shivering behind the tree. Jerry joined in the
laughter.
Robert pursed his lips. “Well, at least they are in battle formation. If the enemy
ever comes around that tree, they are goin’ to be in for a hell of a surprise!”
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Jerry was still laughing. “Yeah, but their leader is a tree.”
“Well, at least they have a leader. I haven’t seen our leaders. Have you?”
“Now that you mention it. I haven’t. Wonder if they are hidin’ out somewhere?”
“Who knows?”
Simultaneously, Robert and Jerry stood up and fired into a clump of trees where
they guessed the enemy hid. They then lay back down and reloaded their muskets.
Robert smiled. “You reckon’ we sent ‘em packin’ with those rounds?”
Jerry guffawed, “Not likely, fuzz face.”
“Fuzz face? What’s that about?”
“When was the last time you shaved?”
Robert thought. “I guess it’s been a few days.”
“Well, fuzz is sprouting all over your face.”
“What do you mean fuzz?”
“Well, it sure as hell ain’t a beard. It’s like peach fuzz.”
“It is too a beard. It’s just a soft beard.”
Jerry just looked at him. “Right!”
Both the Union and Confederate soldiers were firing sporadically now. Robert
noticed that large pockets of Union troops were scrambling back up the hill. Some of
them were shot in the back, and they tumbled back down to their original positions.
Robert thought, Those Rebs have got a good bead on us and they are just takin’ potshots
at us now.
Robert was firing on the right side of the tree and Jerry was on the left. They sent
off another volley. Robert heard the angry hornets again. He saw Jerry jerk like he was
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kicked in the stomach by a mule. Jerry crashed backwards into a rhododendron clump.
The blood started pulsing from his wound, seeping into his wood uniform, causing the
blue to turn dark violet. Robert instinctively placed his hands and weight on the wound
to stop the bleeding.
“Jerry, you’re going to be OK. Just hold on.”
Jerry was talking in short bursts, laboring with the wound. “Robert… do me… a
favor.”
“Sure, buddy. Anything!”
“Please get a hold… of my ma… and tell her… I didn’t run. I was afraid… I
would run… but I didn’t. Please tell her… I want her… to know… I didn’t run.”
“I’m goin’ to let you tell her. We’re gonna stop the bleedin’.” Robert tore off his
jacket and placed it over his friend’s wound, but the bleeding didn’t stop. He was losing
his life blood very quickly. Robert held onto his hand which was going cold. “Come on,
Jerry. Hold on.”
“Robert…”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks…”
“For what?”
“For being here… you’re my… best friend… this isn’t… so bad…” Jerry smiled
and then the smile faded and his eyes dulled as the light left them.
Robert was crying as he held his head in his hands. This isn’t the way it was
supposed to be. The Rebels were supposed to keep retreating. Nobody was supposed to
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get killed. If they wanted this Godforsaken land, they could keep it. It wasn’t worth
Jerry’s life. Robert had never felt so alone as he did this afternoon.
He picked up his musket and after reloading it, fired into the underbrush below.
“Take that you bastards. I hope you rot in hell for what you did!” Robert was lost. He
had nothing to hold onto. His emotions swept over him like an ocean wave, pushing him
down into an undertow, taking him to areas he had never been before.
He wanted to avenge his friend’s death. He wanted to hurt somebody… anybody.
He didn’t care who, at this point. He was alone…. very alone. A bitterness entered his
young heart, filling the emptiness. He never felt so much hatred, poisoning every thought
as he reloaded his musket.
One of the Union soldiers, standing in front of him, started to retreat. Robert,
without thinking, aimed at the scared kid and pulled the trigger. Friendly fire was not
uncommon in the battle. The youngster toppled down the hill like a felled tree. Robert
muttered, “Traitor. You can’t leave Jerry behind.” Robert reloaded and then charged
down the hill.
18 July 1861, Thursday, 1330
Gen Longstreet’s men lay in hiding behind the hundreds of trees flanking Bull
Run at Blackburn’s Ford. As the Union soldiers moved down the hill, coming into view,
Longstreet’s men poured lead into them. The woods provided great cover for his troops.
After the first few volleys, the firing was sporadic as it became individuals against
individuals.
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Even though the majority of the troops were teenagers, there was a large
contingency of middle-aged troops.
You could easily identify them because their
metabolism had slowed down, allowing their bodies to expand their girth. Many of them
would sweat profusely on marches. The younger troops would wonder if they would
make it. And, some of them did pass out from heat stroke.
But in the coolness of the woods, a rather portly man in his thirties was far from
heat exhaustion. He was spoiling for a fight. He did not like Yankees and wanted to get
his hands on one of them. As the sergeant approached Blackburn’s Ford, he noticed
another squad, crouching down stream behind a stand of maple trees and he waved at
them. They waved back. He was proud of all the volunteers, defending the state of
Virginia. Longstreet had given orders for a small group of smirmishers, including his
squad, to cross the creek in an effort to determine the force and location of the enemy.
The cool water at his ankles felt good. He waded across to the other side and he
crept up the bank. Other soldiers were following behind him. The sergeant peeped from
behind a large oak tree and saw his first Yankee, a 300-pound gorilla, just a few yards
from him. The sergeant did not want to give his position away by firing at the Union
soldier, so he waited until he came closer. Then, he jumped on the surprised middle-aged
man and started pummeling him with his fists.
The Union sergeant grabbed the wool jacket and pulled the soldier close to him so
that he could not strike him with long looping swings of his fists. The two tumbled down
the slippery bank into the muddy Bull Run. They rolled through the water until they
were both soaked. They gathered mud from the bottom of the creek until they could
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barely move from its weight. The men in the sergeant’s platoon could not identify their
sergeant anymore. Both of the men looked exactly the same.
The two men were now simply slapping each other as their strength had been
sapped. The men in the sergeant’s platoon started laughing as the two elderly men traded
slaps, each time splashing water and mud all over the place.
Billy, a private from Waynesville, was the first to comment. “Well, boys. What
are we goin’ to do with these two warriors?” The two sergeants continued to swat at each
other with little effect as they were now huffing and puffing in their efforts to fill their
lungs with oxygen.
Another private took a serious approach. “Ahh can’t tell who is who. Does
anybody see our sergeant in there?”
The squad agreed. “Nope. Don’t see ‘em.”
Billy said, “Well, we know he’s in thahr, somewhahr.”
Both sergeants stopped their slapping contest and looked over at Billy, glaring at
him.
Billy continued, “An’ ahh can’t tell by their actions because they’r doin’ the same
thing. Anybody know which one is our sergeant?”
The serious private said, “Wahl, we can’t tell. What do we do, Billy?”
Billy studied them a second and then raised his weapon and pointed at them.
“Ahh guess ahm gonna have to shoot amongst ‘em cause they both need some relief.”
Both sergeants dove back into the mud. Billy put down his weapon and the squad
continued to laugh. At that moment, Gen Longstreet rode up on his horse. He had his
familiar cigar twirling in his mouth.
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“What tha’ hell you boys doin’ down there?” The gruff voice of the general
brought the soldiers immediately to attention. The two sergeants stood erect, as well,
with water and mud dripping down their faces. The general had to smile around his
cigar.
The Confederate sergeant roughly pushed the embarrassed Union sergeant out of
Bull Run. “Ahhve captured this Yankee as a prize for ya, sir.”
“Well damn outstanding, and a prize he is.
Bring him up here sergeant.”
Longstreet watched the two sergeants labor to get up the hill. The Virginia native
proudly presented the soaked prisoner to his commander. Longstreet boomed in his deep
voice, “Well, done sergeant. It’s kinda like fishin’ aint it? This one is a keeper. Now,
take him behind the lines and then go back and get you another big one.”
18 July 1861, Thursday, 1400
The Union soldiers in the wooded areas, both the 12th NY and the 1st Mass were
getting hammered from all sides. The Confederates were hidden so well that many times,
the Union troops were just firing at the areas where they saw smoke billowing up.
The sound of bugles was music to their ears. It was the signal for them to return
back to their original positions. They could retreat with dignity. Yet, many of the
soldiers took off at a gallop.
Gen Tyler still had his rifled cannons blazing away at the enemy. The artillery
duel between the seven field guns on both sides continued on in full force, while the
infantry moved behind the cannons, but not the enemy’s cannon fire. The soldiers
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attempted to hide in the trees, but their leaders directed them to stand in formation out in
the open fields.
“We’re just targets out here!”
The men grumbled enough so that many leaders relented and let them move out of
line into safer areas. Gen Tyler called for reinforcements. A courier raced back to Col
Sherman to tell him to bring his men forward at a double-quick pace.
Col Sherman had his men jog two miles during the hottest part of the day. Along
the route, they passed wounded, tattered, exhausted, blackened soldiers from the NY 12th
and Mass 1st. Some of the soldiers were muttering in a daze, “We are all cut to pieces.”
Sherman’s men finally arrived at Butler’s Farm, where they collapsed in sweaty,
complete exhaustion. Since the artillery duel was still going on in full force, Sherman
allowed his troops to move into the trees. Shells were coming overhead, breaking
branches as they blasted through the treetops.
Sherman noticed that his men were
ducking each time the cannonballs came rumbling through the area.
He rode his horse in front of them and told them in a reassuring voice that they
need not bother ducking. “Boys, stop worrying about the cannon fire. By the time you
hear the cannonball come roaring your way, it will be too late to duck.”
Just then a cannon shot came within range and struck some trees above him.
Sherman reacted like the rest of his troops, ducking his head down to the horse’s neck.
Then, Sherman sat erect and tall in the saddle like nothing happened. He looked around
and his men were smiling. Sherman allowed his teeth to show as he grinned back at
them. “Well, boys, you may doge the big ones.”
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18 July 1861, Thursday, 1600
The firing ceased at this time. Gen Tyler had lost 83 men, while the Confederates
had 70 casualties. Even though this was a small skirmish by later standards in the war, it
was momentous to the teenagers who had never been in battle before. It was an eyeopener for Gen Tyler and other commanders, as well. The leaders knew that the war was
not going to be as easy as they initially thought.
Sherman knew all along. He had told everybody from the beginning that the war
was going to last for years. It would never be decided in a 90-day period. That was a
ridiculous time frame created by politicians and other idiots. He was not happy with
political leaders who had no understanding of war.
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