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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.” 1 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. 2 “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.” 3 “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 4 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, 5 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. 6 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.” 7 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.” 8 “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, 9 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. 1 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. 10 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. 11 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 12 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. 13 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. 14 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.” 15 “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 16 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!” 17 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 18 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 19 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. 20 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 21 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. 22 “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 23 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.” 24 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. 25