Camp Bartow, near Manassas, Va., September 5, 1861.
Dear Courier: The events of yesterday were exceedingly interesting to the second Brigade of this Division of the Confederate Army, and their memory, tinged with sacred tenderness, will ever be cherished, by the brave hearts who witnessed them, with feelings of hallowed joy.
The occasion was that of marking, in a proper way, and with suitable ceremonies, the place where Bartow fell. At the instance of some of their officers, the members of the 8th Georgia Regiment, had procured a small marble shaft for this purpose, and the other Regiments of the Brigade – the 7th, 9th, and 11th Georgia, and the Kentucky Regiments – had been invited to join them in this act of respect and commemoration. Accordingly, these commands left their respective encampments at about 8 o’clock, yesterday morning, and marched separately to the battle-ground – a distance of seven miles – where they arrived between 10 1/2 and 11 o’clock. After stacking arms, the various Regiments were dismissed until the necessary arrangements could be completed for raising the shaft, or, perhaps, it would be more properly called a post.
Only the 7th and 8th Regiments of this Brigade were in the battle of July 21st, and to the members of these corps, this re-visiting the place of their strife and glory, was on of deep and strange interest, with commingling emotions of joy and sorrow. As they walked over the field, the sight of nearly every point in it would, by association, bring to vivid remembrance, some exciting scene in the awful tragedies of that eventful day. Here one stood when he heard the first cannon ball pass in fearful nearness to himself; there he saw such a friend fall – his imploring look, and outstretched arms; yonder was the enemy’s battery, and how their angry mouths belched forth the livid streams; what a shout there was when such a Regiment advanced to that point; how the heart sunk when our forces fell back there, how the enemies balls made the dirt fly around us as we passed along here; how good the muddy water in this little branch looked when we double-quicked across it; what horrid anxiety there was to know whether the Regiment yonder were friends or foes; here a cannon ball was dodged; there a bursting shell avoided; there was seen A leading off B, who dragged one leg; here came C, supported between D and E, and so awful bloody in face; yonder laid F with his hand significantly on his breast, and at various points round about, were friends and strangers, lying fearfully still, some on their faces, some on their backs, some with folded arms and legs drawn up, and others with outstretched limbs. Still, we pass on, finding distances, strangely different from what they seemed on that fearful day, seeing several houses, not many hundred yards distant, that were not then noticed, and finding many natural objects strangely out of place. Each one, naturally, seeks the place where his own Regiment had its severest struggle. Arrived there, he sees and hears once again, the indescribable scenes of bloody carnage, and fearful horror, which his memory now presents with most painful distinctness. He imagines that he again hears the whiz-z-z-z of the cannon ball – the zip–zip-zip-p-p-p of the musketry charge, and the quick whist, whist of the rifles. He sees where this and that friend stood, and where the other fell.
But the roll of the drum reminds us of our wandering, both physical and mental, and we’re returned to the place where the gallant Bartow fell, to witness the interesting ceremonies that was about to be performed. It was 2 o’clock P.M., on the ever memorable 21st, when this gallant and much beloved commander, breathed his last, and his noble spirit took its flight from a field of bloodiest strive to realms of eternal peace and rest. He fell about 300 or 400 yards of the South-west corner of the battle-field, and within 100 yards of where his Regiment was first exposed to the enemy; just at the very crisis of the battle, after our forces had been compelled to give way again and again and was just there regaining some of their lost ground. But a moment before he was killed, he had taken the colors of the 7th Georgia Regiment in his own hands, advanced some distance toward the enemy, and in the face of their fire, planted them, and rallied the men forward to this new line, which he told them Beauregard had commanded that they should hold at all hazards. In this immediate vicinity and at that time, was the last desperate struggle before the final route of the enemy. Gen. Bee was killed about 150 yards to the right of where Bartow fell, and Col. Fisher, of one of the North Carolina Regiments, about 250 yards in front after the Lincolnites had commenced retreating. Those three brave officers all fell in a short space of time.
The preliminaries being arranged, a hollow square was formed around the place where the stone was to be erected, by the four regiments composing the 9th Brigade, commanded by Col. Bartow, with the staff officers in the centre. The officers were ordered in front and the Brigade brought to parade rest. The sight here presented, was duly impressive, grand and patriotic. There was something really exhilarating in the idea of these thousands of sun-burnt and hearty soldiers, who have endured the hardships and privations of a campaign already long; who have resolutely performed long, forced marches and murmured not at the attendant hunger and fatigue; and who, with unblanched cheeks have met the most unplacable of foes in the storm of battle, and, even against great odds, and put them to glorious flight – for such brave men, whose very appearance gives incontestable evidence of long and severe service, to assemble for the enobling and patriotic purpose, of honoring the memory and perpetuating the good deeds of their commander, is a fit crowning act of their many virtues. When those ranks stood, apparently, in serious contemplative mood, their sorrow was sweetened by heaven-borne music with its soft and mellow strains. The band played a beautiful funeral march, and the time and its fine execution were so completely in harmony with, and so tenderly touching to the finer feelings, that the “pearly drops were seen to course each other” down many a bronzed cheek.
The ceremonies were then continued in the following order:
2d – Prayers by Rev. John Jones, Chaplain of the 8th Georgia Regiment. 3d – Music – “Camping at Grenada.” 4th – Address by Hon. Mr. Semmes, Attorney General of the State of Louisiana. 5th – Music – “Let me kiss him for his mother.” 6th – Address by Maj. J. L. Cooper, of 8th Georgia Regiment. 7th – Music – “The Marseillais Hymn.” 8th – The putting of the Post in its place by Brig. Gen. Jones, assisted by the commanders and portion of the Staff Officers of the different Regiments.
The Music by the band, belonging to the 1st Regiment Georgia Regulars, was most excellent – by far better than any other band we have been in the habit of hearing in the service. The prayer was peculiarly appropriate, and offered in that chaste and pathetic style, so characteristic of our faithful and most beloved Chaplain. Of the speech by Mr. Semmes, I cannot give even a synopsis, without prolonging this letter to an unreadable length. He was pleased at having an opportunity to express the sympathy of Louisiana with Georgia, and all the other Confederate States, in their present troubles, and to assure the hearty co-operation of his own State, in all the necessary sacrifices, struggles and labors to secure our independence. He said our independence had been virtually achieved, by the bloody victory of July 21st, but we must maintain the prestige then gained, suffer no defeats but continue our onward march. He said England and France would not interfere in our behalf, until it should be known that we needed none of their help. He compared our privations and sufferings with those of our revolutionary ancestors, and showed how comparatively insignificant they are, while the independence we shall obtain will be almost transcendently more important, and prospectively glorious. The heroes of ’76 relieved themselves of the yoke of a single King, held in check by our enlightened christianity, and wholesome constitutional constraints. But we will be released from the tyrannies of a fanatical pagan, skeptical mob of abolitionists. He closed by paying a beautiful tribute to Col. Bartow, and said that in his death was particularly realized the beautiful saying of the Latin poet, “dulce et decora pro patria mori,” it is sweet and honorable to die for ones county.” He said he need not exhort Confederate soldiers not to prove recreant, but in times of severe struggle it be well to remember the dying words of their gallant commander and “never give up the fight.”
Maj. Cooper’s speech was short but full of pathos. He had not intended to speak, but thought some Georgian ought to raise his voice on this interesting occasion, in commemoration of the virtues of one of her most brave and gallant sons. He made a most interesting allusion to the dying words of our lamented commander, uttered, as they were, as the tide of battle was turning in our favor, and he exhorted the men that however severe their hardships might be, or however desperate the struggle, to remember the dying words of our late, lamented and much beloved commander, and “never give up the fight.”
The Shaft is plain white marble, six feet long, four feet above the ground and about eight inches in diameter at the top. The inscription on it is,
Francis S. Bartow “They have killed me boys, But never give up the fight.”
After lowering the stone into its place, each one of the Staff Officers, threw a few spades of dirt around it. When they were through, a beautiful young lad, Miss Barber, living in the vicinity, stepped forward, and taking up a handful of dirt, threw it in. This tribute, thus beautifully paid, was heartily cheered by the soldiers. Mrs. Branch, of Savannah, the mother of our lamented Adjutant, being present showed her appreciation of the departed hero in the same way.
These ceremonies being over, we soon took up our line of march for Camp Bartow, where we arrived about sundown, much fatigued, but well pleased with the manner in which the day had been spent.
Sept. 6. For the past two weeks our forces have been gradually moving on towards Washington. Adjutant Harper has gone out this morning with Gen. Jones to look or a camping ground in the vicinity of Centreville, some 8 miles from here, a little west of North and due North from Manassas. Centreville is 26 miles from Alexandria. There is more or less skirmishing every day, in the vicinity of Alexandria. A grand battle is expected soon.
Dear Father: As you requested me, upon parting with you, to let you hear the particulars of the first battle of much importance that might occur in the vicinity wherever we might be located, and as I promised you I would do so, such an opportunity as the soldier usually finds at present presents itself, and I cheerfully comply.
On Thursday, the 18th inst., after lying on our arms for several days at Winchester, expecting to be attacked by large forces under Gen. Patterson’s command, we received intelligence that Gen. Beauregard was engaged in a flight at this place, and the forces we had hitherto expected to meet at Winchester were moving rapidly toward this place. We were informed that Gen. Beauregard was already fighting against fearful odds, and that our immediate aid was highly essential. It was then 2 o’clock P. M. Orders were given to strike tents, which was executed almost instantly. Immediately afterwards, we took up our line of march to Piedmont, a station on the Railroad from where we could get transportation to the Junction at this place. We continued the march, with but little to eat, and without scarcely any water to drink, during the evening and night. Being hurried off from our camps so unexpectedly was our only reason for being short of something to eat, for we get a plenty of meat and bread when we have time to prepare it.
About 2 o’clock A. M. we arrived at the Shenandoah River, and owing to the large numbers having to cross, there not being conveyances for all, we unhesitatingly plunged in and waded across. Our army, though tired and weary, then proceeded, with blistered feet and much fatigued limbs, to cross the Blue Ridge, where, if we had the golden beams of the mid-day sun to shing upon is, instead of the milder rays of the moon, I could not describe the beautiful scenery.
But enough of this. It is not my desire to undertake to describe our hardships or the scenery we have had the advantage of seeing, but to carry out what I have in the commencement undertaken. I did not expect, when I left home, to rest “on flowery beds of ease,” but I must admit, the rocky beds we have to repose on are a little harder than I bargained for.
We arrived at Piedmont Friday, 19th, at 10 A. M., where we remained until Sunday, 21st inst. In transporting the various regiments from Piedmont, it was done according to age of commission, and as Brigadier-General Bartow and Col. Gartrell had precedence of our regiment, we were compelled to await our time. We would have got to the field in time to have taken part in the fight, but for the carelessness of an engineer, who, by his carelessness, or by an wilful act, ran into another train and caused a general smashing, with it took a considerable time to remove. We were too late by several hours. A more indignant set of men you never saw than those of the 9th regiment.
I have taken a thorough view of the battlefield immediately around our camps, and such destruction I never before witnessed. In many places you cannot walk without treading on the dead bodies of the enemy. Their loss could not have been less than from twelve to fifteen thousand killed, wounded and prisoners. Their own report of killed and wounded is from four to five thousand, and you are aware they would not swell their figures. This number they however admit. At the first battle, on the Thursday previous to the fight on Sunday, their loss was over one thousand killed and wounded, while our loss was estimated at thirty killed and wounded. Our total loss in both fights will not exceed one thousand killed and wounded.
The dead bodies of the Yankees are lying all along the road and the woods from here to Fairfax C. H., a distance of about fifteen miles. We took all their artillery – ninety-three pieces. Amongst the batteries taken was Sherman’s, the West Point batteries, and others I do not remember the names of. We also took enough provisions to feed fifty thousand men for weeks. It would be too tedious to undertake to tell all we did take from them. Their loss is not less than one million dollars, and perhaps is a great deal more.
The Georgians of our brigade took the much boasted Sherman’s battery. Never did men fight like our men. Those that fell, fell like men. They had to contend for a long time against eight or ten to one, and although I feel the utmost regret, yet I know they each rest in a hero’s grave.
Scott brought his best troops, and undoubtedly expected, with his best drilled men and superior numbers, to crush us out at once, and thus end the campaign. He made a tremendous attack on our forces with the left wing of his army, and when he thought he had the majority of our forces drawn off, he made an effort to reach our railroad, and no doubt expected to have entirely cut us off from any further communication with Richmond or Piedmont. But his plans, although good, did not succeed well. The few Georgians that met him maintained their position for four or five hours, after which time Gen. Johnston had them reinforced, when they were driven back like dogs. Brigadier-General Bartow had his horse shot from under him, at the same time receiving a wound in the foot. But this was nothing to a man with his well-known nerve. He rallied his men, though badly cut up at that time, and joined in with Col. Gartrell, and remarked that if he had the 9th Georgia Regiment with him all would be well, and prayed for their arrival. He kept a man at the Junction waiting to conduct us to the field all day; but, alas! our arrival was too late.
Col Gartrell’s horse was killed from under him by a bombshell, he, at the same time, receiving a wound in the leg. The shock was so great that his own men thought him dead.
Chen Col. Gartrel fell from his horse and was thought dead, or mortally wounded, Gen. Bartow seized the flag that Col. G had dropped and waved it over his head, exclaiming: “Georgians, if you love me and your country, follow me. Never let it be said that Georgians faltered.” As the men rallied Col. Gartrell recovered and mounted another horse, rode up to Gen. Bartow and said: “Sir, that is my flag, I am yet able to bear it. If I fall again, then take it.”
Gen. Bartow responded, and at the same instant received his fatal wound. Col. Gartrell insisted that Gen. B. should allow him to have him borne from the field, but Gen. B. refused, saying: “I die, but I die with my men; you rush on and never stop till the victory is ours.”
The battle ground extended over some eight miles, and where Gen. B. and Col. Gartrell fought was where the work was well done. When they were reinforced by Gen. Beauregard, our men opened up such a deadly fire on the enemy that they could stand it no longer, and such running no one ever saw. They lost nearly everything they had. In short, they fled like sheep before wolves. They kept running, and our forces, cavalry principally, following them to within a few miles of Alexandria. It is said they attempted to cross the Potomac at Alexandria, and were fired into by their own party to prevent their crossing.
When President Davis was seen passing over the battle field, the poor fellows, that lay upon their backs wounded, bleeding and exhausted – then they saw him, though they could do no more, whey waved their hats as he passed, and cheered for Jeff. Davis and the South. Wherever the ranks had been broken and the men scattered, when they saw the President of the South in their midst they shouted that they would follow him to death, and rallied once more for the last successful onslaught. President Davis, with his cavalry, chased the enemy for miles, and the, and the President, being so eager in pursuit, did not return until after night.
Let us now look one moment to our wounded. What heart does not feel the pang of anguish as well as pride to see many a mother’s darling – the laughing dimples of youth yet upon his beardless cheek – rush gayly by the scene of strife and blood, and hot tears rush to eyes unused to weep at the thought of that fair head pillowed on the bloody turf? And yet where could mortal die as well? Pity the desolate ones at home. But for him the death that must have come at last, and torn him reluctantly from earth, has come sooner than, perhaps, nature intended. And perhaps this manner of dying …, and their names lisped by generations.
Yet to rise. But, oh! how painful to a feeling, generous heart to hear the groans of the wounded – some almost gone – but while they live are begging for water, some begging their friends to take their little precious jewels to their lovely companions at home they never could again on earth be permitted to see; others praying to live to fight in the last battled for freedom’s cause; others lying weltering in their blood, with a smile on their face, proud to know that when the cold, green sod should cover them they would fill a hero’s grave; others asking their friends at home not to grieve for them -they were dying the death they most desired, fighting for their county. All these are hard things for the sympathetic heart to witness; but such scenes were my lot to see. But for him who dies in his country’s cause, a country mourns his loss, every patriotic heart honors his memory, every eye weeps with his relatives, and every heart is willing to share the burden of his relative’s woes. I believe I have given you the most important items incident to the battle, and now, in conclusion, I beg that I be kindly remembered to mother, sisters and brothers.
Hoping to hear from you at all convenient opportunities,
I remain, with much esteem, Your affectionate son, R. A. Hardee, Capt. Comd’g Brooks Rifles, 9th Georgia Regiment.
It was at Manassas, July 21, 1861. The “call” was not personal to the writer alone, and this brief narrative must not assume that phase.
It was a “close call” in which a full regiment of near a thousand men participated. The regiment was the memorable Eighth Georgia, organized at Richmond, in May, 1861., disciplined and commanded by that chivalrous sone of Georgia, Francis S. Bartow, of Savannah, who reached the capital of the Confederacy in command of the Oglethorpe Light Infantry of his city.
The writer left Atlanta as high private of the Atlanta Grays, Captain Thomas L. Cooper, on May 5, 1861. Other companies from the state went forward to Richmond at the same time, and an early formation of the regiment was accomplished, drilled and equipped for the arena of war.
It was an intrepid band, composed exclusively of Georgians. The regimental staff consisted of Colonel Bartow, Lieutenant Colonel Montgomery Gardner, Major Thomas L. Cooper and Lieutenant John Branch, adjutant. In the staff also was that distinguished and scholarly gentleman, Dr. H. V. M. Miller, the surgeon, familiar in ante-bellum Georgia politics, as the “Demosthenes of the Mountains.” The commissary was Major Charles H. Smith, known to literary fame as “Bill Arp.” The quartermaster was Lieutenant Ed Wilcox, of Macon. Gardner was in West Point, had been in the Mexican war, and was the thorough drill master and disciplinarian the regiment had need of. In this he had the ready assistance of the colonel, whose enthusiasm and ambition had no bounds. He had a personal pride in developing a regiment perfect in all things. The material was there assembled, and Colonel Bartow’s lofty character exercised a marked influence among company commanders and privates. Among the latter were men the peers of their ranking officers, men of high birth, education and refinement, bearing muskets and in cheerful submission to rigid military discipline.
Of the company officers it is impossible here to speak. It was a fine body of Georgia’s chivalry, many of whom as captains of local companies, like Bartow at Savannah, had given evidence of ability of a high order. If memory fails me in the long lists, I cannot forget Lucius M. Lamar, Magruder, Dawson, the Coopers, Tom Lewis, Seab Love, Towers, Fouche, Hall, Smith, Charley Lewis, Dunlap Scott and John C. Reed, now at the Atlanta bar and a member of our present city council, George C. Norton of Louisville, the Harpers and Dwinell.
A brief stay in camp at Richmond, and the regiment was sent forward, first to harper’s Ferry. The soldier prefers active service to the monotony of camp life.
Here it is in place to record my then impressions of Colonel Bartow, our Richard of the Lion Heart – sans peur et sans reproche – and his regiment as he rode at its head. He seemed an ideal knight, and the pages of crusade history can furnish nothing grander in conception of purpose or desire of achievement, as its beautiful banner first floated to the winds and its burnished guns flashed in the sunlight. Here was the pomp and pageantry of war, with the glistening blades of a Saladin. A thousand men in the bloom of youth, enthused with the righteousness of their cause, and an invincible determination to defend it. Thus propelled, they were fit champions for any cause or any age.
Alas, for the frailty of human hopes, when fate decrees otherwise! And how ambition treads the spider’s stair! The regiment reached Winchester from Harper’s Ferry, where General Joseph E. Johnston was confronting a Federal force menacing the valley of Virginia. Our stay at this point was without incident. It was severe drilling under a merciless July sun with light picket duty on the turnpike leading to Martinsburg. But the plot was thickening.
In the forenoon of July 18, and order came to be in readiness in two hours for a forced march to reinforce General Beauregard, at Manassas, and in that brief period of time the command of General Johnston was in motion.
We waded the Shenandoah river, and by midnight had reached the summit of the Blue Ridge, where for an hour or two rest was had in the village of Paris. Resuming the march, railway transportation at Piedmont awaited us, and in box and stock cars we landed at Manassas, much exhausted from wading a river, climbing over a rugged mountain, loss of sleep and in sore want of food. This was but a foretaste of what awaited the regiment on the following day. It proved a stimulant to courage, and created a dogged pertinacity to meet whatever issue the future might hold. And they did to a man!
It was now night at Manassas on July 20, the eve of an eventful day in the history of the Eighth Georgia. At daylight on Sunday morning, the 21st, the regiment was hurriedly ordered into line and sent forward to the left flank of General Beauregard’s line of battle where the enemy had made a heavy flank movement and attack. This was an exhaustive forced march of several hours under a pitiless July sun impeded by artillery and cavalry en route.
By 10 a. m. the scene of action had been reached, and the combat was on. Beauregard’s elaborate line of earthworks had been flanked.
Here the mastery of war had to come to issue on the field, and no advantage to any, save that the enemy had precipitated an emergency requiring military skill and quick action to meet.
To this Generals Johnston and Beauregard proved equal, as history will show. But The Journal asks for a recital of the “close call,” and my preface has lengthened out to weariness. Our talented litterateur, “Uncle Remus.” congratulated himself on one occasion whilst reading a piece to a friend, that the listener did not go to sleep!
And here comes the close call: Hampton’s Legion and other troops were engaged.
The first sight the Eighth had of the enemy was Rickett’s battery of six 10-pound pieces on a promontory, about a half a mile distant. So soon as the regiment entered an open field and got in line for action, that battery had a very fine target, and was quick to get the range. It was in a nicely cultivated cornfield, the growth being about waist high, that we loaded guns and fixed bayonets.
Colonel Gardner with his field glass surveyed the situation calmly for a moment, and ordered the regiment to “lie down,” which I remember to have done with great promptness and much satisfaction. Perhaps never before had I embraced mother earth so affectionately, as my weary head was softly laid in a freshly plowed furrow, and I pulled a stalk of succulent corn to slake my thirst. The regimental staff had dismounted and sent horses to the rear.
The federal infantry had not advanced to our immediate front, and not a shot had we fired. Colonel Bartow, having been promoted, was not in command of the regiment. He was not far distant, however, getting orders from General Johnston, whose other forces were moving up rapidly. A crisis was at hand. The rattle of musketry grew nearer, and Rickett’s gunners had an easy going affair in plowing up with solid shot and shell our cornfield. The soldier’s pride of character keeps his courage intact so long as he has a fighting chance, but the suspense is trying to the best nerve when he cannot strike back as he receives. In any event, however, he will do and dare in the face of the enemy as is known only to those who have been there.
Colonel Gardner was no novice on such occasions, and he stood as a statue in front of the regiment and calmly awaited orders.
At length the order came, and the “close call” followed in its wake.
General Bartow, attended by an aid, dashed up, and in a moment “attention” rang out in clear tones amid the wild din and confusion.
The Washington artillery of New Orleans, dashed by like the torrent of Niagara, and the clanking sabers of Stewart’s cavalry gave inspiration to the boys of the Eighth, ready to do their duty, and eager for release from their perilous position. The dogs of war were to be unleashed.
“Men, this regiment is ordered to capture yonder battery, forward, double-quick, march,” and Colonel Gardner sprang forward, flourishing an old cavalry saber he had used in the Mexican war. It was a half-mile on open ground to reach that battery, save a stunted pine thicket in its immediate front, from behind which its guns were in full play as we advanced.
Our quick movement and not having time to lower their guns for a correct range, much of the destructive fire of shot and shell failed in its deadly mission. Our loss in this half-mile was not serious. Rickett’s battery, as we learned later, was known as the “pride of the army,” and its work on that dire occasion was indeed beautiful, of one can descry anything in resemblance to aesthetics under such circumstances!
And yet close comes the “close call.” We thought it sufficiently near at hand in the cornfield under the fire of well directed guns, awaiting slaughter like sheep in the shambles.
But that was a picnic!
We entered the pine thicket in very good order, emerging from which into the open the regiment found itself some fifty yards distant from the battery, its position being a little elevated, and every gun in full chorus. Nothing remained but a last desperate sortie for those guns, and to silence them. Perhaps to turn them on the enemy. Up to that critical moment, the regiment had not suffered seriously, beyond the killing of a few men, and wounding not more than a dozen, so far as memory serves me.
It was thought we had the bird in hand, but it is the unexpected that happens, and certainly, it confronted us then and there with startling suddenness. As we began to pick off the gunners and end the havoc, there arose as if by magic from the ground, a full regiment of United States regulars in support of the battery, and we received a terrific volley along the entire line of our regiment. The aim was a trifle too high, but its effect was deadly enough. The blow was staggering and much confusion ensued. The regiment had lain flat on the ground in the rear of the battery, and was unseen by us until the blue flame belched forth as from one gun. As the volley was answered there was no infantry in sight. They had flattened upon the earth to reload, and in an instant another volley greeted us shattering our ranks and causing still further disorder.
The contest was unequal, and our charge for the guns was halted. Had the infantry aim been a little lower, our destruction would have been complete, for the old time United States regular had a dead aim.
Among the first to fall was Colonel Gardner and Adjutant Branch, with several company officers, and a third of the men wounded or killed. It was difficult to retrieve the regimental alignment and continue to contest, but there were no orders to fall back, the colors still floated defiantly in the hands of the color bearer, Charley Daniel, and there was no surrender, demand for one, or advance of the enemy. Human endurance finally reached the limit, and the Eighth Georgia retired to the base of the hill under a withering fire of shrapnel, where the remnant was reformed as reinforcements came up. The Pine thicket was a scene of ruin, stripped of its foliage, and presented a grime spectacle of war’s devastation.
At this juncture General Bartow brought up reinforcements and was wild at the unhappy fate of the regiment he loved as his own. It was in this act that he lost his own grand life. I make no effort to describe the death agony of our late colonel. He died with armor on and colors in hand.
It was now high noon, the sun burning down with tropical ferocity, and no man had tasted water since daylight. The dead lay upon the field, and the wounded had but indifferent care.
After the death of Bartow the Eighth and Seventh regiments were place in General Bee’s command. The enemy advanced in vast numbers on other parts of the battlefield, and the carnage had no abatement. The next great loss was that of General Bee, who fell with a mortal wound.
General Kirby-Smith reached us with his brigade, but was severely wounded as soon as his troops got into action, and his services lost to the Confederates.
Until about 4 p. m. the battle raged with great severity with the issue doubtful, when the enemy was seen to waver. The battery which the Eighth with such dire results sought to capture single-handed was now silenced, its commander wounded and a prisoner.
The field of Manassas was won, and the “on to Richmond” abandoned to a later period.
I am competent to speak of the one regiment only. Others had their close calls. In fact, it was an uncomfortably close transaction to all concerned on both sides.
After the third of a century memory becomes treacherous and perfection is not claimed in this brief sketch. The career of the Eighth ended at Appomattox, its ranks diminished to scarce one good company. Probably 75 percent of those who received their baptism of blood at Manassas have solved the great mystery.
From Yorktown and all through Virginia to Gettysburg and back, wherever a battle was fought, some member of that regiment reposes in an unknown grave. He followed wherever the immortal Lee led.
Let us hope that grand old Nature in her munificence at each returning springtime will decorate the turf over them with the beautiful wild flowers and the choristers in leafy branches overhead trill their choicest notes!
It should not be forgotten that the Confederate was not such soldier as comprise the regular army of a country. He was of a higher strain, and the purity of that strain finds no degeneracy in his issue. He claims lineage from:
“The knightliest of the knightly race That, since the days of old, Have kept the lamp of chivalry Alight in hearts of gold; The kindliest of the kindly band That, rarely halting ease, Yest rode with Spottswood round the land, And Raleigh ’round the seas.”
Those who survive that regiment, and in weary steps pass to and fro amid the busy scenes of life, hold, as the French would express it, and embarrassment de richesse, resembling the sunlight and the shadow. Memories of picturesque scenes of jocund comradeship in the bivouac one day, and of death and burial the next.
And it is: “Oh for the touch of a vanished hand – The sound of a voice now stilled.”
FOURTH ALABAMA REGIMENT AT BATTLE OF MANASSAS, SUNDAY, JULY 21, 1861
By William C. Ward
At sundown, Jul 21, ,1861, the greatest battle ever fought on the American continent, to that time, had been won by the Southern Confederacy and lost by the United States of America. So widespread and deep was the exultation of the southern people, and so profound was the depression of the north, that everywhere and easy achievement of southern independence was confidently anticipated.
In June, 1861, General Patterson, with a large and well-equipped army, crossed the Potomac in the vicinity of Matinsburgh Va., and confronted the army of the valley of the Shenandoah commanded by General J. F. Johnston, making such demonstrations as to indicate an immediate battle. After awaiting the expected attack for about ten days, General Johnston withdrew to Winchester, Va., and his troops resumed drilling, of which they stood in need. General Jackson, however, with his brigade and some cavalry remained in the presence of the enemy, concealing the movements of his commanding general.
In the meantime, General Beauregard, flushed with the cheap laurels won in the capture of Fort Sumter, was in command of a splendid, thought not a large army, along the line of Bull Run creek, about three miles north of Manassas Junction. He was a splendid military engineer, and with the creek to protect his front had a well entrenched position. General McDowell, with the flower of the Federal army, strong in numbers and with all the most modern equipments of war, occupied a strong position confronting Beauregard. On the 18th of July, McDowell made a reconnaissance in force along Beauregard’s front, justly creating the impression that he intended to give battle. Over Beauregard was the shortest line of march to Richmond with a railroad to carry supplies. It thus became manifest that Patterson had not seriously intended to attack the army of the Shenandoah, but had made a strategic demonstration to amuse General Johnston. As soon as General Johnston, on the 18th, had information by telegraph that Beauregard been attacked, the army of the Shenandoah was mobilized and at once marched toward Manassas leaving Winchester that afternoon. Infantry, artillery, commissary and quartermaster wagons filled the highways all crowding toward the point of attack.
At noon, on the 20th of July, we reached Manassas and bivouaced in the woods about one mile north of the Junction. We were very tired and very much exhausted by the weary journey, on foot and in the cars, and the excessive heat. Early Sunday morning, off to the northwest, an occasional report of artillery could be heard, but soon that most alarming of signals, the dropping fire of skirmishers was heard. Directly a courier dashed up to General Bee, our brigade commander, who immediately mounted his little chestnut horse, and the order came to fall in. Sooner than it takes to write it, we were headed to the northwest at a double-quick guided by the artillery and skirmish fire Of the Third brigade commanded by General Bee, composed of the Fourth Alabama, Second and Eleventh Mississippi, First Tennessee and the Fifth North Carolina regiments, only the Fourth Alabama, Second Mississippi, and two companies of the Eleventh Mississippi were present in this movement, the others following later in the day. General Bee was at the head of the Fourth Alabama, and ever moving toward that skirmish firing. So rapid was the march, that many of the men, weak from measles, were being left behind, afterwards to take their places when the battle was on. Imboden’s rock brigade artillery, had unlimbered on a plateau, just north of the Robertson […] Rickett’s battery, 500 yards over the hill and beyond the valley intervening. Arriving at the point of attack, it was found that General Evans (Shank) in command of an outpost numbering about 600 men, had been struck by McDowell’s right brigade engaged in turning Beauregard’s left. Wheat’s battalion of Louisiana Tigers deployed as skirmishers, moved at the right oblique across our front and disappeared into the timeber. The Fourth Alabama was fronted into line of battle and ordered to load. It was then marched to the southwest for a short distance, partially behind a block of timber covering a steep hill side, when again fronting in line of battle marched up the hill and halted behind a low fence just in the edge of the timber.
General Bee from the left, rode up along our front and commanded, “Up Alabamians.” At once, every one sprang up and forward into the corn field about one hundred and fifty yards, halted and laid down in the corn, then about two feet high. Over a little ridge, just out of sight, was Rickett’s battery, near enough for us to hear the commands, “Load. Aim. Fire!” and the sound of the rammer as it drove the shot home, and the swab as it followed the shot sent across the valley to Imboden. We could on our right, see our men as they rose to fire and lay down to load. We could hear the commands of the Yankee officers, as they urged their men to advance. Every time the right of the Yankee regiment, immediately in our front, reached the crest of the ridge, we fired and the Yankees would fall back. On our right the men were more exposed, and the slaughter was terrible. The roar of musketry was fearful, and without intermission. It was, load, aim, fire, at will. The Second Mississippi had disappeared from our left. How long we were there, we never knew, but long enough to be left alone, and for Jackson to reach the plateau near the Henry house, a half mile in our rear and take a strong position; long enough for Bartow, great of soul, to form line to the right of the Robertson house, supporting Imboden’s battery, and long enough for Hampton, with his legion of infantry, cavalry and artillery to arrive from the right, and long enough to leave on the battle-field nearly one-third of the 650 men who went into battle.
Just who did it, was never known, but some one gave the command retreat. The regiment rose and faded as it were to the rear. Some men ran as they went by Colonel Egbert Jones, who stood by his horse supporting himself, having received his death wound. He said, “Men, do not run.” The men were demoralized. They fell backwards, through the woods, over the fence, down the hill, reformed facing the front, then faced to the rear, crossed the brook and again halted and faced to the front obliquing to the right. Colonel Jones having been left wounded, Lieutenant-Colonel Law took command. It was then seen that immediately on our left there was a Federal regiment that had turned our left in close column by division at a support arms, and that our right had been turned by a Union brigade. The left company of the Fourth, notwithstanding the cry, “Don’t shoot, they are Virginians,” delivered a fire left oblique into the faces of the regiment on the left. This was returned with interest. The Fourth was literally hanging in the air without support, enemies to the right of them, to the front of them and to the left of them. Again the men in front of the terrible fire fled up the hill. It was pitiful to see the poor fellows fall before the merciless hail. Chagrined, full of wrath and shame, some dragged themselves up the hill, and as they retired turned and emptied their muskets at short range into the faces of the foe.
Where was Shank Evans with his six hundred, where was Wheat with his Louisiana Tigers, where was Falkner with the Mississippians? Crossing the line of the Eighth Georgia, a shell exploded just over the head of Captain Clarke, who commanded the left rifle company, and immediately in front of this historian. The old captain fell, lay still on his face for a moment, rose, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and quietly continued to the rear. Here the celebrated Hampton’s legion came into view, with the assistant surgeon in front carrying a stretcher, and firing volleys or red hot oaths at the retreating men. Hampton must have formed on the left of the Eighth Georgia. Halting around the old cotton-bale flag, which Sergeant Frank Fitts had carried through the day, just in the rear of the Georgians, it was ascertained that about two hundred of the regiment had rallied.
It was just at this time that General Johnston and Beauregard, accompanied by their staffs, rode up to the regiment, having heard the firing from their position on the right, and concluded that McDowell had selected his own battle-ground and was giving battle. To General Johnston’s question, “What troops are these?” the answer was, “It is what is left of the Fourth Alabama.”
“Where are your field officers?” The answer was, “left on the battlefield.”
“Who is in command?”
Here it is understood that no one had thought it the duty of the senior captain to take command. We asked that the general either lead or give us a commander to take us again into the battle. He replied that he had just come on the field, and as soon as he could understand the situation he would place us again in battle.
Just at this point General Bartow, bleeding from a wound in the foot, his horse wounded and panting, rode up and said, “General Johnston, I am hard pressed on the right, and I cannot hold my positions without reinforcements. The General replied, “You must at all hazards hold your position, and you need reinforcements, this regiment here,” pointing to the Fourth Alabama, “will support you.” Bartow turned his horse and rode back to his command and to his death. General Johnston then, placing himself by the colors, moved the Fourth through the scrub pine timber, placed the regiment in a washout in the rear of the Georgians and left us shrouded by the thick pine bushes with orders to support Bartow.
There are some men who believe that a speech is always in order, and never lose an opportunity to fire an audience with their eloquence. Here was a great opportunity, and Captain, afterwards General Tracy rose to the occasion. The men were sad; their comrades had fallen; they had shown their backs to the foe, and they felt that hence forth they never would be able to wipe out the stain. They felt that they ought to have died on the battlefield. Tracy was eloquent. It is remembered that when he had exhausted all his native resources, he closed with Hallock’s lines, “Strike for your altars and fires; strike for the green graves of your sires, God and your native land.” Just then a minnie ball, apparently having lost its course, came singing that song that threatens to strike but does not indicate where, yet apparently near Captain Tracy’s head. He bowed low, saying, “and dodge boys, when you can.”
The battle raging from our right towards our left came nearer. Bullets fell fast into our covering. The captains, not knowing what had become of Bartow and his Georgians, moved us out into an open field, where we could see the danger that threatened. A water detail was sent out while the men rested in the sun. It was here that General Bee rode up to the regiment. Mortified at the results of the morning and feeling all was lost, he called out:
“What regiment is this?”
Captains King and Clarke answered, “General, do you not know your own men? This is what is left of the Fourth Alabama.” He said:
“Come with me and go yonder where Jackson stands like a stone wall.” The captains replied, “we have sent out details for water and as soon as they return, we will go with you.”
It was just before this that the Federal attack had become general. Advancing over the line of retreat of the Fourth Alabama, the Union army ascended the hill to the plateau in front of Jackson and Hampton and the Georgians, and as it uncovered the crest, there was a crash of musketry that can never be forgotten. The Yankees advanced, loading and firing, and their cartridge covers showed beautiful lines and magnificent drill.
When the water was distributed, General Bee mounted, placing himself on the left, and moved in rear of Jackson’s line of battle. Arbuthnot’s battery changing position, cut the regiment in two at the colors. When the right again joined the left, we were told that General Bee had fallen mortally wounded, while leading the regiment to a place where it could again go into battle. He died that night. While waiting in front of the Lewis house, where General Johnston had established his headquarters, General Jackson rode by, having his arm in a sling. For hours he had held his position and it was understood that he had saved the day.
Directly there was an indescribable roar of battle and shouting. The cavalry came from the rear charging to the front. The cry was that the Yankee army was in full retreat, and all over the vast plateau the glad shouts of victory went up to heaven. President Davis, at this time, rode on the field, hat in hand, receiving the plaudits of the men. Straglers were coming in. The happiest people ever seen were the negro mess servants, who laughed, shouted and wept. Steve., Captain King’s body servant, was uncontrollable in his joy that he had found his master alive. The Fourth went back to the Junction that night to gather up the fragments and sleep. We were so tired! We laid down to sleep feeling that we were disgraced; we waked on Monday morning to find the air vocal with our praise. That a great victory had been won was being ascribed to the fact that the Fourth Alabama had for an hour held the Federal right in check until brigades and regiments could be moved from the right to the left. As fast as the regiments came on the field, marching by the left flank they were fronted into line of battle and moved into action. McDowell, at the same time, was always moving by his right until having uncovered his front about 12 o’clock he advanced to the main attack. His flanking movement had been discovered by Evans and check by the Fourth Alabama. We never fully knew what the Fourth Alabama had done until General Heintzleman’s report to his commanding-general was made public. In that report he paid a very great compliment to the valor of the Fourth Alabama regiment that for an hour or more delayed his advance successively driving back his four regiments, so that he was unable to again bring them to the attack. From the position named, all knew the regiment so designated was the Fourth Alabama.
To prevent a short line march to the rear of our line of battle by the Union army, it was necessary to keep a large part of Beauregard’s army behind his earth works at Bull Run, when the day had been won. Colonel Cook’s Virginia regiment came on the battlefield, having all day listened to the roar of the great battle. The battle was fought by the southern generals without a plan, a rough and tumble fight made necessary by the splendid flanking movement of McDowell. As the day grew old, Generals Archer and Kirby Smith, coming by railroad train, when at a point equidistant from the battlefield and Manassas Junction, hearing the sound of battle, stopped the train and with their commands moved in the direction of the firing. They struck the Yankee right, squarely and doubled it back upon itself. Up to this time the Yankees had steadily advanced fighting with great confidence. This was too much and they fled from the field without order, never halting until under the shelter of Washington.
After we were in the road and well closed up, Bartow, raining in his horse, announced to us, with thrilling manner, as we passed by, “We are marching to succor General Bearegard, who is now fighting the enemy at Manassas”; and deafening cheers responded. We kept on twenty four hours, with but four hours’s rest, taking the railway train at Piedmont, where the shipment was tedious and wearing. Our regiment arrived at Manassas Junction early Saturday morning, July 20, and from Bartow’s words to us after breakfast, we supposed we were to meet the enemy immediately; but having stacked arms near Mitchell’s Ford, the way wore away without anything notable except loud complaints from the hungry. Our boys had many of them found their haversacks containing three days’ rations too burdensome, and so they had thrown away most of their contents. The next morning, in company with W. H. Clarke, the junior lieutenant, and McCall the second sergeant, I went to a neighboring home and bespoke a good breakfast. While it was preparing a cannonade commenced. The house chanced to be that of the man who was to be the guide of Lt. Col. Gardner, now in command of the regiment, Bartow commanding the brigade, to his position; and he saved us a long walk back over the ground we had come by showing us where we might fall in as the regiment came by. The cannon we heard were far towards the left. As we marched along the batteries quickened their fire, and I saw a shell explode for my first time. Because of the greater distance of the hostile batteries from us the explosion of the shell seed to be the echo of the report of the gun, and as the shell came toward us the echo seemed louder. Most of the men were still hungry, and but few had recovered from the exertion of getting to Piedmont from Winchester by forced march, now regarded as a great affair, though a year later we would have laughed at it. But the sound that promised battle fed the hungry and rested the weary. We went about and about, sometimes almost counter marching, often double quicking, and now and then on the run. The sun was blazing in fiercest heat. At last we were near the famous Henry house. Here we saw Bartow, who had not been with us during the morning and while we paused to amit some disposition of the 7th. Georgia that he was making as brigade commander, Hampton’s Legion came alongside of us and halted. In their best clothes and clean linen. How bravely they outshone us, who were in our shirt sleeves, and all bedraggled and soiled with the dirt of our hard march. And their ranks were full, while he had left two hundred behind at Winchester, most of them sick with measles. Here I first heard musketry. Rival batteries might dual it our at long taw, but I was as accurately impressed then as I could ever be Afterwards that musketry meant real fighting. The sound came from over the hill and seemed about half a mile away. Here I gave Lit. my colored servant, my coat and baggage, and took my canteen, and ordered him to go to the rear. As we started he was in a great struggle between his concern for me, and his fear, which had been showing plainly since the increase of artillery fire, and became abject when he heard the musketry. The rest here, – though out of the shade, and we were about to taste our first battle, – was very grateful. We marched a few hundred yards, surmounting a hill that rose with a steady slope, and the shock was stunning when on the crest from which we caught a view of two miles beyond, we came, as it seemed to us, all at once, in the midst of the fight. Under orders we laid down a short distance in rear of the Henry house. The Wise artillery was just beyond the house, and it was firing rapidly. Hostile guns were replying, but they did not have the range; and the shot and shell were passing far overhead. This was the most trying part of the day. The projectiles sung and whizzed and exploded over us, around us, and a very few among us. One of the Macon Guards was killed here. I shrank from the accursed things for several minutes. Once I saw dust rising from the roof of the house, indicating that a shot had passed through it. Major Cooper directed a brush fence, dividing the regiment between the right of our company and the next, to be pulled down. I was lying ten or fifteen yards distant, and as another officer was nearer, I did not heed the command. It was repeated. I looked up, and o my shame saw that nobody had stirred. I forgot the hostile battery; and in a minute a dozen of our men had enlarged a passage to our major’s satisfaction. The small affair was a great relief to me; and I think that with my springing up went the last of any nervousness that day. When I lay down again, I located the battery on the other side of the turn-pike, and about three fourths of a mile off. A long range of woods ran around the further limit of the field, and out of a place in this, as it seemed, I could see the smoke puff. Then I distinguished the report, and I have forgotten how many seconds I made it between the two. In a short while after I had heard the report, here came the shot or shell. Then I saw a long line of the enemy, far towards our left; and it rejoiced me to see them scamper as some of the shot of the wise artillery tore through their ranks. General Bee was fighting across the turn-pike, as we could hear, not see. After we had stood the fire of the distant battery about half an hour, Bartow started with us to reinforce Bee. As we moved off, another man was struck down by a shell – killed, I think. We kept behind rising ground, crossed the pike, went up a long steep red hill, and, when near the top, fronted in line and halted, – our commander seeming to expect an attack. Then we resumed our march. Just as we reached the corner of a square grove of oaks I descried the battery, and noted that were nearer to it by half than when on the hill. It sent a few ineffectual shot at us; and passing on around the rear of the oaks, we turned up the other side; and when we got to a fence running off to our right on a production of the front line of the oaks and leading to the famous pine thicket, we filed to the right, and proceeded along the fence. It was partially thrown down, and there was some small growth on each side, called in the south a hedgerow. As we turned away from the oaks a few men were wounded by Minie balls from the long fence, some three hundred yards off, to be described hereafter. Eight companies had passed on – the regiment was marching by the flank, with the right in front – and just as company I was turning from the woods, a shell from the battery, now hardly three hundred and fifty yards from us, knocked three men out of a file behind me. Some of Company K were also wounded here by a shell. Shortly afterwards I heard canister shot fly through the bushes, the marks of which I found the next day. Bartow was leading us to the thicket about a hundred and twenty yards distant from the oaks. A fence on the side of the oaks we were leaving reached on the produced side about 250 yards to the front, where it intersected with what I call the long fence, which last extended several hundred yards to the right. The 4th Alabama were lying on the ground, to the right of the fence running from the oaks, and I saw them in this position loading and firing upon the long fence. At the point where we left the oaks this regiment was between us and that fence. Now let me tell you of the latter and the thicket. It was evidently Bartow’s design, or Bee’s, that we should take advantage of the thicket in order to approach under its cover within good range of the long fence. The latter was about 125 yards from the front of the thicket, and our march was along the hedgerow to enter the rear of the thicket. We were foolishly carried over the last sixty yards of this route before and not behind the hedgerow, and a most galling fire was concentrated upon us from parts of three regiments. We made this last of the way on the run. I could hear the bullets zipping and zeeing among us like angry bees, and I knew that our men were falling fast. Two of our company were hit just here, – George Heard, one of them, falling dead as we entered the thicket. This with the tree wounded by a shell, made five. We slackened down to quick time, and I glanced up the regiment and was struck with the good order in which the files were dressed. We were in sight of the battery, and in position to be raked from end to end, but its canister came too high. When we moved forward, the ground concealed us from the guns. Just as we resumed quick time I looked back at the perilous place we had just passed. Jesse Dalton, of company K, a man over sixty, against who I had brought a suit for slander for Higgins, was coming over the ground running slowly and weasely. Thousands of bullets seemed to be striking up the dust around him, but he did not quicken his gait. He was too exhausted. I thought that he would run the gauntlet safely, but just as he got to the pines he received a serious wound. When I saw his fall I could not help thinking of the rule of law under which a personal action dies with a party*. I said we had dressed our files. Bartow, quivering with rage, shouted, “By the left flank, march.” That threw us in line, to the front. Everybody understood that it was ow our time; and there was a wild rush to the edge of the thicket. It was rectangular and contained about three acres, with a front of some 110 yards. We should have had a least three hundred yards. From the fence came a volley that roared more loudly than any I have ever heard afterwards, but it seemed to do no hurt. Huddled up in some place seven or eight deep, and even more, our firing commenced. I observed three colors at regular intervals, just on the other side of the long fence. A dwelling was a little beyond it, and four out-houses were on its lines, and some grains stacks besides. The dwelling and out-houses were opposite the left and right center of the regiment. The further side of the fence, the out-houses and stacks were lined with federals. An ice-house was a few yards nearer our side of the fence, and just a trifle to the left of the produced left line of the thicket, and more federals were around it; and they extended in rather desultory order, in front, to a point not far to its right. To the left of the ice-house, in an oblique line towards the fence, by which the 4th Alabama were lying, another regiment took position, just after our fighting commenced, and its musketry was very destructive to companies K and I, as it approached somewhat to an enfilade and many of the men f these companies were pushed out into the open. This last mentioned regiment fired buck and ball, as I discovered from the marks on the trees the next day, the other regiments fired Minie balls. Now, were we not in a pickle? The houses, the stacks, the fence, the line of the regiment on our left, – all seemed a continually playing flash. The trees were becoming white all around us, from having the bark cut away, though I noted that numerous bullets were going too high and bringing down leaves. Many of our men were being wounded, and there were frequent cries of pain, “O,! Lord!” becoming from that time on the ejaculation that I usually heard a man make when struck in battle. But the loading and firing kept up with eagerness. Jim Lewis, one of the company, came to me and told me goodbye. The brains and blood seemed to be running out of his forehead. I never expected to see him again, but the next day it appeared the ball had gone around and not through the skull. I shall never forget how pale, stiff and thoroughly dead Gus Daniel, another one of the company, looked as I glanced down when I had stumbled over him. This was the first dead man I saw. Our men were taking careful aim. McCall, a glorious fellow from New York State, our second sergeant, as already mentioned, was shooting at the color of the regiment on our left; and all of company K, and the left half of I, were aiming at that regiment. The weary and feeble were staying their muskets upon the pines, and each was selecting a mark. A federal in front of the thicket bravely rushed into an opening in the fence, where he raised his piece, but before it came to his shoulder it flew into the air and he fell. A second later I saw another adventurous man climbing and out-house, and down too he came. But we were under the concentrated fire of at least four regiments, and probably each was of fuller rank than ours. I was never afterwards in as hot a place. The men were so crowded as seriously to impede their work. Some few fired as many as fourteen rounds, but the most of them fired but seven or eight. And let me make you understand the peril of those few minutes. According to a count some of us made upon a careful study of the company roles, the regiment carried into the action 490 officers and men. Of these 41 were killed, 159 wounded, and seventeen reported missing ten or twelve days afterwards. It is probable that the most of the seventeen were wounded and captured. So out of 490 we lost 217 – not very far from half. I think it was 39 or 40 of dead in the thicket that I counted a little before sun down, and they lay within less than half an acre of ground. In our company six were killed in the thicket; and thirteen severely wounded. Two of the latter died soon afterwards. Our total of officers and men in the company at the commencement of the action was sixty-four, and adding to the killed and wounded those whose clothing was pierced by balls – and bear in mind hardly one of us had on a coat – and deducting the sum from the total, fourteen only was left. As those who heard him told me the next day, Bartow vociferated to the captain of the Atlanta Grays, “We must get these men out of here.” Several times he ordered us to fall back, but I was among those who did not hear. Nothing could be understood in the din to which our ears were so new. But some of the men at last, misunderstanding the order to fall back, began a disorderly retreat. On the right of the first platoon, close behind it, I was encouraging some of the men of our company to fire with more coolness, and I reminded them that the enemy’s fire was slackening. The regiment furthest to the left had disappeared – its smooth-bores probably being no match for the Mississippi rifles of company K – and the line before us looked thinner along the fence; and there was nobody standing on our side of it. Ransome, one of my men, lying on the ground, was keeping his musket quiet. He seemed very cool, and with much warmth I asked him why he had ceased to fire. He fired at once, begun to load, and shouted to me that he had been obeying orders; and he rolled his eyes in such a manner that I glanced to the left and then to the right. Nearly everybody was going back at about quick time. Of course I could not stay. I carried off my squad very doggedly. Their sulleness increased mine. At every step they seemed on the point of rushing back, and soon would turn and fire. I had got near the fence at the rear of the thicket, when I heard what seemed to be a severe slap, and looking towards it I saw a little fellow, of another company with his piece almost at a shoulder. He was facing to the right, and a ball had struck the barrel; and he told me afterwards he thought he was shot through his collar bone. His face showed great anxiety, until I said to him that it was his musket that was wounded. Bartow’s horse was killed in the thicket; and when I came to the fence dividing the pines from the wheat field, he was there dismounted, and ordering the colors to be planted near the fence. He was greatly excited, and he implored his men to rally. I went to him, and I thought his eye twinkled with pleasure as he saw that I was coming to the front. The last words that passed between him and me were my enquiring where he wished the line to form, to which he pointed with his arm along an open place running diagonally through the pines, and said, “Just there.” I was nearly ready to sink in the ground at what I too hastily conceived was the disgrace of the regiment, for I did not know that we had been ordered back. “Who is the officer that is leading off these men” said the colonel hoarse with rage, stamping his feet, and shaking his fist in the direction of our poor fellows going across the wheat field. Jake Phinizy, 1st lieutenant of company K, made great efforts to bring the men back. I shouted from the fence, calling everyone by name that I saw. We got back a few. But balls began to come hotly from the right, and the colonel commanded us to fall back. All organization was lost. My little band kept with me, and I told them we must go to the color. We crossed the ledge of small oaks, through which shot and shell were crashing, from a battery on the right which I could not see, and we came upon the color at the brook, at the foot of the hill, behind the grove of oaks. The men leaped into the water like thirsty men, It was muddy, but we drank copiously. A dashing cavalier, as he looked in his brilliant uniform, galloped up, and said, “Why, the Georgians are running while the South Carolinians (of Sloan’s regiment) are fighting.” Our color-bearer, Charley Daniels, cursed him, and threatened to shoot him; and many of us ran towards him, hurling the fiercest imprecations. “O,” said he, with an apologetic, but noble bearing, “I must admit that you are ready enough to fight; I withdraw the words that I should not have used;” and he rode away. Some days afterwards I saw a picture, and then for the first time I learned that the handsome stranger was General Bee. Bartow sent the color bearer on nearly to the pike, not far from the free negro Robinson’s house; and there the regiment tried to form. It was madness. The red hill side of the brook, hardly two hundred yards distant, was swarming with infantry, elated, huzzaing, and flaunting the United States flag so proudly that is seemed to cover the whole land. We mustered perhaps a hundred men. Bartow sent us word from a fence on which he was leaning, the he should die where he was or his regiment should rally. I saw Hampton’s Legion in position, in front of Robinson’s house, its right resting on the pike, and my judgement told me that we should reform behind the new line. But I could not disregard the appeal of Bartow. Our men fired about two rounds here, and it was returned more than five fold. In the midst of the smoke and dust thrown up by the musket balls shot at us I found myself between the two lines. But at last I got in place behind the remnant of our company. The company commanders led the men away; and I have always believed they did right. Just before I got to the pike, a fugitive passed me at a slow pounding trot. When he was about six or eight feet ahead a bullet whistled so close to my ear that I was startled. “Dip”, I heard it strike. The poor fellow fell forward, the blood and brains spouting from the back of his head in a red jet as long as my finger. We passed out behind Hampton’s Legion, and then behind the 7th Georgia. Here I noticed Fry, the old chaplain, patting the men on the back, and adjuring them to stand firm. Major Cooper in obedience to orders, carried the regiment off the field. I stayed behind; and I collected a few of my company and some others, whom I tried to induce to go with me into a regiment just arrived. A field officer angered me by saying they did not want stragglers, but one of his whole-souled captains told me softly not to mind a d—-d fool, saying he would make room for us. My poor fellows were fainting for water, and it seems to me some of them were letting their tongues out, and I was myself almost dead from thirst. We told the captain that we should rejoin him as soon as we had got some water; and we ran off for it. We hurried back, and the regiment had gone. Then it occurred to me that the remains of our own regiment might yet for ordered forward; and in that case I ought to be with it. So I sent one of the company to find and mark exactly where it was, and keep me informed of it; and I sat down on a stone and observed the fight. I cannot more definitely give the place than by saying it was a little to the left of a battery of ours that was on our right and firing vigorously. A Louisiana Tiger came along going to the rear. He was without his rifle and sabre bayonet, but he had not yet got rid of his loose attire, baggy trousers, and something on his head resembling a turban, – all of which made him look like a Turk. Every time a gun fired from our battery, which, as he was faced about, was to his left, and a little behind him, he would fall prostrate, manifestly believing that the shot was the enemy’s and aimed at him. This sight diverted me for the moment; and with a few minutes’ rest I was soon recovered from my extreme fatigue and thirst, and then returned my great concern for our fortunes. I saw a little and understood more of the first impact of our new line. Yes, the line really does stand. Then I discovered that an assault was repulsed. And as our men fighting were firm, and a few reinforcements were coming up with spirit, and rising columns of dust betokened more behind, the flush of hope came back to my pale cheek and I said to my companions, we shall conquer yet. All the struggle to keep the position where Jackson offered battle, and the taking and the loss of the ground about the Henry house – these I noted, heedless of the dangers that filled the air around me. I had unconsciously changed my position, and got nearly behind the center.
The fight had rolled further to the left, and my ear told me that we were not losing there. When the field around the Henry house was permanently occupied I decided that the day would soon be ours. In my verdancy I supposed that when the enemy went back all of us should be ordered forward; and so I returned to the regiment. The main field hospital was near it, where numbers of the wounded were stretched upon the ground. It was spirit-lifting to hear them bless the regiments double-quicking by, and see them wave their comrades forward with hands soon to be stilled in death. The reinforcement rushing past, replying to the wounded with cheers and vows to revenge them, the musketry plainly receding, the joy in the faces of all around and brightest in those of the dying as victory was surely coming – all this moving scene arises, and I am again an eager confederate, volunteered for the war. When our men advanced in the last charge, there came above the confused noise of the battle a shout – I was always told that it commenced with the 1st Maryland and the 3d Tennessee – and shaking the earth, rending the air, and piercing the ears, it followed Bull Run down on our right, until it died out in the far distance. There was born full-grown the southern battle-cry. I ran towards the Lewis House. I caught sight of the federal line going to pieces, and I saw Lieut. Dearing as he fired the farewell shots from our side. Officers were leaping for joy. One of these who was gray-headed, was clapping his hands with fury, and exclaiming rapturously and over and over, “We have whipped ‘em.” I dashed back to the regiment. In a short while orders were brought that Genl. Johnston wanted every man to come to the top of the hill that he might show his line to the retreating enemy. As I tell this now I feel a qualm of the nausea that it excited in me. It was about 5 P. M., and all of three hours until dark. I replied to myself, Is there to be no pursuit? I had been pleasing myself with the compensation our regiment was now to have for the awful loss in the morning, and gleefully had I quoted to some of my friends Shakespeare’s “Tis sport to maul a runner.” It was days before I fully recovered from the disappointment. Jake Phinzy always asserted that I never did.
President Davis galloped by on his way to the field. His high-crowned hat and citizen’s garb showed oddly. He was recognized, and everybody cheered, the wounded among them.
I got to the pine thicket as soon as I could. Thad Howell, the handsomest man in our company, was lying on his back, in the open field, just at the edge of the pine. A bullet had struck the top of his forehead, and the brains were oozing out. He heels drummed on the ground constantly, but I found that he was utterly unconscious. Those who could feel demanded all that I could do. There was Dawson Moore, one of our company, with his leg broken. I got him into an ambulance. But there were many other companies who were not removed that night. For a long while after the ambulance left I was there alone. I supplied all the wounded with water. Some drank as though they would burst, but I as not afraid to give it. As I started away with a poor fellow’s canteen the second time, he called me to him and made me swear that I would return. But their thirst was at last assuaged. Their teeth commenced to chatter, and I robbed the dead of blankets to cover them. Nearly all went to sleep. At a late hour that night, friends commenced to come in groups. It was raining. I threw an oil-cloth which I took off of a dead federal around men and went to camp, and, lying on the ground with my feet to the fire, slept until several hours after sunrise, when the men around me waked me by cheering some of the captured artillery that was going by. It was still raining; but with Charley Doherty, a lieutenant of the Pulaski Volunteers, I went over the field. First I studied the fence and stacks and out-houses in front of the thicket. It gratified me to find hardly a single mark of a bullet from our regiment which was too high; and the wounded federals in the house and yard, said our musketry had be devouring. Then we went to the other part of the field. It sickened me to find a frightened woman cowering in the Henry house. She showed me the body of her mother laid out. The old woman had been long bed-ridden, I think she said, and while in bed the day before she was killed with a musket ball, which came through the side of the house. The house was riddled with shot. To the left of the house – in a field of small pines of second growth – the dead were thickest. The red shirt generally marked the federal. As this spot had plainly been the fiercest and closest grapple, and both sides had shown the genuine Anglo-Saxon mettle. It pained me to see that our dead here equalled, if it did not exceed, those of the other side. But further on our left, the federal corpses indicated that surprise and swift destruction had darted upon them from the forest which I shall mention after a while as extending forward; and here our loss had been small.
As our camp was near I went over the field many times, and I studied it more closely than I ever had opportunity to do another afterwards. The map which accompanies this chapter was made just as my study of the field ended. Though I was without topographical training, It think it is practically accurate. I hope that the engraver will reproduce the rude diagram exactly. I regret now that I did not make it illustrate the rest of the battle field. But I was then too resolved upon showing the terrific results to the 8th Georgia of inexperienced conduct.
The foregoing account is mainly taken from my letters to Gennie, and it may be relied upon as thoroughly accurate. I have tried to set down mainly what I noticed myself, in my first battle. Many of the regiment further to the right told me that the federal line advanced from the log fence once in a charge, and arriving at the cedars, marked on the map, we thence driven back by our fire. I have not described this, simply because I did not see it. And I wish that I could say more of those who suffered. Especially should I be glad to tell of Col. Gardner, who was on the right, where he was sorely wounded. But I forbear. I fear that I have already detailed much that can never interest anybody but myself.
But if I have cut my narrative short, I have some philosophizing and reflections I cannot suppress.
Instead of reinforcing Evans’s right, Bee ought to have strengthened his left, using the square oak grove, the hedgerow to its right, and the hills to the left of the grove for cover and screen, and gradually have fallen back to the high plateau where we took our stand later. It was foolish in the extreme to advance the 4th Alabama into the bare field beyond the oaks. It was madness to send the 8th Georgia to the pines by the route I have told. We never should have been thrown so far out; but if it was decided that we must seize the opportunity offered by the thicket, we should have been led from the corner of the oaks directly to its rear, which would have been the shortest line, and one hidden by the hedgerow from the battery and the long fence. When arrived at the thicket, only the left half of the regiment should have been sent to the front, and the other companies should have been stationed along the right side, and ordered to lie down. And those sent forward should have been instructed to take advantage of all cover offered by the trees and the formation of the ground. When we gave way, the enemy advancing rapidly upon our right and rear, there was nothing to be expected from raw troops but a disorderly flight across the pike. But had Bee made use of the oaks and the hill to their left, and posted skirmishers to be retired into the oak grave behind it when pressed, such a stand could have been maintained much longer than ours was and the transcendent duty of the hour was to gain time to allow of reinforcement from our distant right. And the 4th Alabama, the Tiger Rifles, the 8th Georgia, and the other men of Bee and Evans would have reached the new line with but small loss. Such management would have made the fight across the pike the right preparation for our battle, instead of the route which proved very near our ruin, and which was retrieved only by a seeming miracle.
The longer we contemplate the plainer it appears that everybody else’s part on our side could have been better spared than Jackson’s. He really decided, and with the utmost wisdom, where our new line was to be formed. He who was afterwards the magician of surprise to flank and rear is now the very soul of the grand need, obstinate fighting. And yet his wariness shows. He pushes his artillery into the open, to be sacrificed to encourage the raw infantry that he is sheltering; and he charges when least expected and in the very nick of time. He has noble comrades, Bartow, Bee, Hampton and Evans are with him, and the heroes face imminent ruing with peerless courage. And General Johnston riding forward with the standard of a regiment! And the chivalric Beauregard having the officers to advance the colors and appeal to the men to come on! Where in all the annals of war were disheartened raw troops so quickly endowed with veteran steadiness against the countless odds of foes flushed with victory won as they believed? And the result! With the very last reinforcement of ours we had in all but twenty-five thin and weary regiments on the field, and we took prisoners of fifty-five regiments, full and fresh.
The field itself was great luck to us. Skits of forest and second-growth pine ran along our front; on the right, ,in the rear of Robinson’s house, there was a wooded ravine; and on our extreme left there was a long reach forward of forest – good for defence and for making our movements. The ground occupied by the enemy in his struggles to carry our position was nearly all open, and it sloped downward, behind him to the plain almost a hundred feet; and so it was highly favorable both for our observation defence and attack. And it is not to be over-looked that there was little shade for the enemy and much for us on this hot July day, especially trying to raw levies. While it is Jackson’s glory to have been the immovable fulcrum of the rally against defeat in the morning, it is Beauregard’s glory that after he arrived on the field the tactics of the battle were practically faultless. To me he has long suggested Luxemburg’s greatness in sudden straits; and I think he appreciated in time the entire resources of the field to which he had been unexpectedly driven. He made them at first serve for an insuperable defensive; and at this moment of ripeness his offensive swept the baffled and wearied for from before him. I am not aware of any other battle in which the ground was so well used and our troops disposed and handled better. The fault of our subsequent fighting was mainly tactical. Beauregard did so magnificently with a small army that he should have been trusted with a larger. Still I must say that there ought to have been a more vigorous pursuit till after dark.
And I cannot help thinking that we failed to learn another important lesson from the first Manassas. That less was to cultivate defensive tactics in pitched battles. I verily believe that had we forced a defensive battle in Pennsylvania the south would at least have got pay for her slaves.
I must not fail to observe upon General Johnston’s report. In the lively image which it calls up to the reader it is equalled, in my knowledge, only by Caesar’s account of the battle with the Nervii, or his picture of the battle which doomed Alesia.
And the last thing I have to say is that Beauregard is right, when he pronounces that we ought to have followed up the victory by crossing the upper Potomac. This would have given us Maryland, and lifted the pressure upon is in the west.
(Note: P. S. I see now, as I have explained in my book “The Brothers’ War” that we ought to have pursued the flying federals, pressing them the rest of the day and all the next night. The bridge over the Potomac hemmed their retreat so seriously that we could have captured nearly the whole of the Grand Army and its baggage. The foregoing was written 20 years ago. July 27, 08
*See 34 Ga. 433. I finally lost my case on another point.
John C. Reed Manuscript, Alabama Department of Archives and History, Montgomery, AL, pp. 15-33
In the death of this distinguished gentleman, Georgia has lost one of her very most gifted sons, and the South a patriot who we can never cease to deplore.
Col. Bartow was a young man, we would suppose scarcely over forty years of age. Yet he has been for several years in the front rank in the politics and at the forum of his native State. His was one of the commanding minds of his section; and his great talents, and the weight of his irreproachable private character, doubtless contributed materially to the position so deliberately taken by his State on the Southern question – a position which her sons are now maintaining with a firmness and intrepidity worthy of her people and the great cause they have espoused.
Col. Bartow left Georgia in command of the Oglethorpe Light Infantry, a noble company of young men, composed of the flower of the State, having resigned from the Confederate Congress for the purpose of taking the field. He was soon promoted to the Colonelcy of one of the Georgia Regiments. He served under Gen. Johnston, and has served nobly, consecrating by his blood his devotion to the great cause of Southern Independence. Georgia will weep few nobler sons.
Our second stop on Thursday was the monument to COLONEL (NOT Brigadier General) Francis Bartow on Henry Hill. There we spoke about the first monument on a Civil War battlefield (I think), the man in whose memory it was erected, as well as a little about the incidents surrounding the naming of “Stonewall” Jackson and his brigade. See here for a nice article on that by John Hennessy. You can also read more about the Bartow monument in the April 1991 issue of Blue & Gray Magazine (the one with friend Clark “Bud” Hall on the cover), in an article titled The Civil War’s First Monument: Bartow’s Marker at Manassas. Appearing in this video are Civil War Times editor Dana Shoaf and myself. The magazine’s director of photography Melissa Winn is behind the camera.
With Generals Bee and Jackson at the First Battle of Manassas
On the afternoon of July 18, 1861, the army of [Brigadier General Joseph E.] Johnston – about ten-thousand strong – which had been for some weeks manoeuvering up and down the [Shenandoah] Valley in front of [Major General Robert] Patterson and was then lying around Winchester, was hastily put in motion and marched off southeastwardly, going we knew not whither. Most of the men belonged to the class which may be described as “young bloods,” sons of planters, reared in ease and affluence – intelligent, merry hearted, high spirited, full of romance and enthusiasm. They had volunteered at the first call, not only from devotion to the cause, but love of adventure, and there was nothing they were so eager for as to get into battle, being somewhat tinctured with the idea that they “could whip at least three Yankees apiece,” and were rather afraid that the war might come to an end before they got the chance to prove it. In spite of their confidence in their general, they had been a good deal chagrined and disgusted at what they deemed his overwary strategy in not delivering battle to the enemy under Patterson. They were therefore greatly delighted to hear the general order which General Johnston caused to be read to each regiment as soon as we got well out of Winchester that summer evening. That order was about in these words: “Beauregard is attacked by overwhelming odds at Manassas. Your commanding general has full confidence in your zeal and devotion and asks every man to step out lively. You are going on a forced march over the mountains to reinforce your companions in arms and save the country.” Loud cheers welcomed the tidings. The prospect of an early encounter with the enemy loomed up ahead and stimulated the impatient spirits of the men to their best exertions. Heat, dust, and night-fall soon made the rapid march disagreeable enough, but it was pushed without a check till we reached the Shenandoah. This river, about waist deep, was waded at dawn of July 19, amidst songs, jokes, and general hilarity. The Blue Ridge was passed at Ashby’s Gap, and at evening of the same day the head of the column arrived at Piedmont Station on the Manassas Gap Railroad, whence Johnston’s forces were sent forward in detachments by rail as fast as transportation could be furnished.
So much has been said about Johnston’s troops appearing on the field in the nick of time after the battle had been long ranging that the impression extensively prevails that none of them were there at its beginning. This is a great mistake. Three brigades – [Brigadier General Thomas J.] Jackson’s, [Col.] F. S. Bartow’s and nearly all of [Brigadier General Barnard E.] Bee’s – were at hand when the battle opened and bore an important part in it all day. The Fourth Alabama and other regiments of Bee’s Brigade reached the Junction at noon of the twentieth and were among the very earliest in the conflict the next day. It was only the comparatively minor number of Johnston’s men under [Brigadier General Edmund] Kirby Smith and [Colonel Arnold] Elzey that leaped from the train when they heard the battle in progress, and, hastening down the Warrenton Pike, came in so luckily on the right rear of the Federals and caused the panic which gave the victory to the Confederates.
I have spoken of the eagerness of our inexperienced but enthusiastic soldiers to see and participate in the battle. The feeling did not diminish, but rather grew in intensity on this occasion, up to the time of actual engagement, and how much longer I cannot say; but one thing is certain – all of us by the time the day was over felt sufficiently amused. Thousands of soldiers on both sides know all about the experience of a first battle, and anything said on the subject would be but an old tale to them; but those who never took a hand, and especially young who have come up since the war would no doubt like to know how a battle looks and seems to a new soldier – its thrill, its thunder, its grandeur, its horror, and no lees its odd, absurd, and even grotesque features. I do not feel competent to paint an adequate picture and description of these things. I doubt if any pen can fitly paint them. A few hints about how this battle opened and proceeded – as the writer saw it – must suffice. The Fourth Alabama were busy with breakfast near the junction when the sudden boom of a gun in the direction of the railroad bridge over Bull Run drew our eyes that way and we saw for the first time the little dense round sphere of white vapor, high up in the air, produced by the bursting of a shell. This was quickly followed by others, the design of the Federals being to draw all attention to that part of the line while they were executing their shrewd flanking movement on our left. However, our regiment, with others of Bee’s Brigade, was at once moved at double-quick towards the Confederate left, to a position that had been allotted to us at one of the upper fords. But we had scarcely reached the designated point when we were again ordered to go at a rapid run for about two miles still further up the stream to meet the Federals – our commanders having just at that moment discovered that they had crossed the stream at Sudley’s Ford, entirely beyond the Confederate left, and were pouring down in heavy force on that flank. All depended on presenting a quick front to this unexpected movement. So we went – a few battalions only – across the fields at out highest speed, and soon reached the plateau of the Henry House, around which the battle was afterward mainly fought. But Bee did not permit us to stop there. He marked that as the most favorable position for the Confederate line to form its new front on, but he knew his brigade alone could not hold it and he also saw that the enemy would reach it, unless checked and delayed by some means before an adequate force of Confederates could get there to oppose them. To gain the needed time it was necessary to risk the sacrifice of the two and a half regiments then with him by a bold movement still further to the front. He could not hesitate. So he ordered the Fourth Alabama, Second Mississippi, and Eleventh Mississippi (two companies) to move half a mile further forward to the next ridge to engage the enemy and delay them as long as possible. Down the slope we rushed, panting, breathless, but still eager because ignorant of the desperate crisis which had doomed us to probably destruction to save the whole army. As we passed the little rivulet below the Stone House, the duel of the artillery began and the shells of friend and foe shrieked wildly above our heads. Mounting the hill and entering the copse of timber north of the Stone House, we began to hear a sharp cracking of musketry ahead of us – a collision between the Federals and some small bodies of Confederates we had not known were there before, among them [Major C. R.] Wheat’s Louisiana Tigers, wearing the zouave uniform.
As we emerged from the little wood we caught sight of these Tigers, utterly overwhelmed and flying pell-mell, most of them running off to our right and toward the stream (Bull Run). This and their zouave uniform, which we had never before seen, but had heard some of the enemy wore, for a minute caused us to mistake these “Tigers” for Federals and as they were flying in disorder, some of our men set up a loud yell and shout of victory, supposing the enemy were already routed and retreating, whereupon one ardent fellow of the Fourth Alabama, with his finger on the trigger and anxious to pull down on somebody before they all got away, burst out with: “Stop your darned hollerin’ or we won’t get a shot!” But the mistake was discovered just in time to prevent our firing on friends. A little way further up the hill beyond the timber and we struck the enemy and no mistake. Their long advancing line, with the Stars and Stripes waving above it (which made some of us feel sorry), began to peer over the crest, eighty yards in our front, and opened a terrific fire, which at first went mostly over us. It is proper to mention that the Mississippians, who had come with us, were halted at the edge of the wood behind us, and so did not get into the hot conflict that ensued, the whole brunt of which thus fell on the Fourth Alabama alone. On receiving the enemy’s first fire we lay down and waited till we could see their bodies to the waist, when we gave them a volley which was very effective, firing uphill. The Federals fell back and disappeared behind the crest. After some interval they advanced another and longer line; but the result was the same as before, only they held on longer this time and their fire hurt us badly. A third time they came on in a line which extended both our flanks, and now the conflict became bloody and terrible to us, their balls coming not only from the front but from the right and left oblique, cutting down our colonel (Egbert Jones) and stretching lifeless many a familiar form so recently full of hope and gayety. Then war began to show us his wrinkled front. But we thought of what they would say at home if we flinched and how ashamed we should feel if after all the big talk about whipping the enemy we let them whip us at the first chance. We could see, too, that they were as awkward at the business and enjoyed it as little as ourselves. Besides, it looked like they could hardly help killing every one of us if we got up and tried to run away. It seemed our safest chance to hug the ground and pepper away at them; and so from sheer desperation, as much as anything, we kept to it, until after awhile, to our great joy, the enemy fell back once more behind the crest, and their fire lulled. Our general, seeing we would be certainly overwhelmed at the next onslaught, gave us the order to retire, which we did before another attack. We had been at it for over an hour and had really rendered great service in gaining time for the Confederate army to change front and form the new line. But nearly one third of the Fourth Alabama had gone down in the effort and were left on the ground, including the colonel, mortally wounded. I should not omit to mention that the Seventh and Eight Georgia, of Bartow’s brigade, also came into our advanced position far to our right during our contest, and had a bloody collision with another column of the Federals, and though these Georgians were recalled some time before we were, they contributed materially to the delay of the Federal advance.
The two Mississippi regiments of our (Bee’s) brigade had also retired before us, so that the Fourth Alabama was going back alone. In this movement a bloody episode occurred to us. Retiring by the same route along which we had come, when we reached the little rivulet running near the stone house, we saw a regiment, in column by companies, marching down the rivulet toward us. Their flag was furled on the staff and so was ours. By the quarter we had just come from they thought us probably Federals, but were not sure. As for us, we felt the enemy had got so far around in rear of the place of our recent fight; their uniform also resembled that of the Sixth North Carolina, belonging to our brigade, and we hastily took them for that regiment coming to our aid. Thus encouraged we halted, faced about and reformed our line, intending with this supposed reinforcement to take another tilt with the enemy we had been fighting if they should pursue us as we expected. The unknown regiment also halted and deployed into line of battle at right angles with ours and less than 100 yards from our left flank. Their colonel signaled us with his handkerchief for the purpose of communicating and learning who we were as it afterward appeared; but we never dreamed this was his purpose and made no haste to respond, feeling confident we knew him, and thinking of course he knew us. All this took place in a few moments. Having quickly rearranged our line, our flag was than unfurled and displayed – the Stars and Bars! Instantly a blaze of fire flashed along the line of our supposed friends (a New York regiment it really was), and an enfilading hailstorm of bullets tore through the Fourth Alabama from left to right, killing many and disabling more, among the rest Lieutenant Colonel [Evander M.] Law and Major Scott, leaving our regiment without field officers.
What does the reader suppose we did? We did not stay there. The position was too bad and the surprise too sudden. True, the enemy’s fire was once returned with considerable effect; but it is only frank to say that we resumed, without delay, our movement back to the main Confederate line, whither Bee had intended us to go when he first ordered us to retire. Having arrived there, even after all they had suffered, the Fourth Alabama still had pride enough left to rally again, and under the command of a captain fell in on the right of the line and fought to the end of the terrible day. I will not now attempt to detail all the incidents that befell the regiment in these later hours of the battle. I will give one, however, which will always be of special historic interest.
The position of our regiment being now on the right of the Confederate line as drawn on the plateau of the Henry House, and the leading design of the Federals during the entire day being to turn the Confederate left, the heaviest fighting gradually veered toward that flank. No one who was there can ever forget how the Federal musketry crashed and rolled in fresh outbursts as new troops poured in against the center and left. Farther and farther round its awful thunder seemed to encroach, as if it would never be stayed till it should rend and tear that part of our line to atoms. Our brigade comrades of the Sixth North Carolina, separated from us in the manouevres of the day, had rushed in single-handed and attempted to check it, but had been smitten as with fire by its overwhelming power and their gallant Colonel [C. F.] Fisher, with many of his men, were no more. Jackson, with brigade, was struggling desperately, and at length successfully, to arrest the Federal columns; but immovable as Jackson and his men stood, the surging tides of the enemy beating upon him with such a mighty momentum that it seemed as if he must give way. Just then the battle had entirely lulled in our front on the right. Our Brigadier, General Barnard E. Bee, at this moment came galloping to the Fourth Alabama and said: “My brigade is scattered over the field and you are all of it I can now find. Men, can you make a charge of bayonets?” Those poor battered and bloody-nosed fellows, inspired by the lion-like bearing of that historic officer, responded promptly: “Yes, general, we will go wherever you lead and do whatever you say.” Be then said, pointing toward where Jackson and his brigade were so desperately battling: “Yonder stands Jackson like a stone wall! Let us go to his assistance.” Saying that Bee dismounted and led the Fourth Alabama (what remained of them) to Jackson’s position and joined them on the right of his brigade. Some other reinforcements coming up a vigorous charge was made, pressing the Federals back. In this charge Bee fell mortally wounded. Bartow fell nearly at the same time and within a stone’s throw of the same spot. Before the Federals recovered from the impression made by this partial repulse they saw Kirby Smith’s men advancing down the Warrenton Pike upon their right rear, as before stated, and his unexpected appearance in that quarter struck them with an overpowering panic and caused their precipitate retreat from the field. The battle ended so suddenly that the Confederates could not understand and could scarcely believe it. When afterwards the doings of the day were recounted among is the above expression, uttered General Bee concerning Jackson, was repeated from mouth to mouth throughout the Confederate army, and that is how he came to be known everywhere as Stonewall Jackson.
In conclusion, as I have set down with an endeavor at entire frankness the achievements, the mistake and the misfortunes that day of the regiment to which I myself belonged (the Fourth Alabama), I may be pardoned for adding a word about how we looked back upon our experience after it was over as a curious illustration of the absurd notions of inexperienced soldiers. Our ideal was that we were to whip whatever we came across – no matter about numbers; many or few, we must put them to flight. To turn the back before any enemy would be disgraceful. Having, therefore, turned our backs to the enemy twice that day, as I have narrated, once under orders and once without, we of the Fourth Alabama, upon the whole, felt humiliated and rather ashamed of ourselves on reviewing what had occurred. It was some days after the battle that to our surprise we began to hear from our comrades if the army and to read in the papers that our regiment was thought to have distinguished itself greatly. Then we began to hold up our heads again and to recall the fact that we had lost more than any other regiment in the army. Finally, we go hold of the Northern newspapers and found where our gallant and generous adversary, [Brigadier General Samuel P.] Heintzelman, giving an account of what he termed our stubborn resistance in that opening conflict, which I have described, had praised us extravagantly, saying: “That Alabama regiment was composed of the most gallant fellows the world ever saw.” This restored our equanimity, and we concluded that if we had not come up to our previous ideas of our invincibility, maybe we had not done so badly after all, and perhaps our sweethearts at home would not scorn us as poltroons. One other profound inpression, however, was left on the minds, at least of some of us, by the events of that day, and especially when we came to gather up the mangled remains of so many of our late merry-hearted and beloved comrades – an impression which was not changed by all we saw in the succeeding four years, or by the lapse of time since, and that was – talk as men about great war-like deeds, heap plaudits on heroes and worship military glory how they will – war is from hell!
Transcribed from Peter Cozzens (ed.), Battles and Leaders of the Civil War, Volume 5, pp. 41-49. Brackets above are the editor’s. Per note therein, the original article first appeared in the Philadelphia Weekly Times, 2/26/1881, under the title First Battle of Bull Run.
PROGRESS OF THE WAR.
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Full and Reliable Details from Our Exchanges.
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The Eighth Georgia Regiment in the Battle at Stone Bridge.
The following graphic description of scenes on the battle field, and the gallant conduct of the Eighth Georgia Regiment, was written for the Richmond Dispatch by a gentleman who participated in the fierce conflict of the 21st of July.
Eighth Georgia Regiment
On Thursday, the 18th inst., about 2 P. M., this Regiment left Winchester for Manassas, under command of Lieut. Colonel Montgomery Gardner. Col. Bartow had been for some weeks acting Brigadier General of a Brigade, consisting of the 7th, 8th, 9th and 11th Georgia Regiments, and a battalion of Kentuckians.
The 8th marched 27 miles over the mountains, fording the Shenandoah, to Piedmont on the Manassas Gap Railroad, arriving there about 12 M., Friday. The march was fatiguing in the extreme. After a delay of a few hours they left for Manassas on the cars, and a slow, tedious ride brought them to this point late Saturday morning. They marched three and a half miles to camp in the woods, without tents, and without food. Early next morning they were ordered to the fight, where they arrived after a circuitous, wearisome, and at times double-quick tramp between ten and twelve miles.
Breathless, tired, faint and footsore, the gallant fellows were eager for the affray.
They were first ordered to support Pendleton’s Virginia Battery, which they did amid a furious storm of grape from the enemy. Inactive as they were, compelled to be under this fire, they stood cool and unflurried.
They were finally ordered to charge Sherman’s Battery. To do this it was necessary to cross and intervening hollow, covered by the enemy’s fire, and establish themselves in a thicket flanking the enemy’s battery. They charged in a manner that elicited the praise of Gen. Johnston.
Gaining the thicket they opened upon the enemy. The history of warfare probably affords no instance of more desperate fighting than took place now. – From three sides a fierce, concentrated, murderous, unceasing volley poured in upon this devoted and heroic “six hundred” Georgians. The enemy appeared upon the hill by thousands. Between six and ten regiments were visible. It was a hell of bullet-rain in that fatal grove. The ranks were cut down as grain by a scythe. Whole platoons melted away as if by magic. Cool, unflinching and stubborn, each man fought with gallantry, and a stern determination to win or die. Not one faltered. Col. Bartow’s horse was shot under him. Adjutant Branch fell, mortally wounded. Lieut. Col. Gardner dropped with a shattered leg. The officers moved from rank to rank, from man to man, cheering and encouraging the brave fellows. Some of them took the muskets of the dead and began coolly firing at the enemy.
It was an appalling hour. The shot whistled and tore through trees and bones. The ground became literally paved with the fallen. Yet the remnant stood composed and unquailing, carefully loading, steadily aiming, unerringly firing, and then quietly looking to see the effect of their shots. Mere boys fought like veterans – unexcited, save with that stern “white hear,” flameless exhilaration, that battle gives to brave spirits.
After eight or ten rounds the regiment appeared annihilated. The order was reluctantly given to cease firing and retire. The stubborn fellows gave no heed. It was repeated. Still no obedience. The battle spirit was up. Again it was given. Three volleys had been fired after the first command. At length they retired, walking and fighting. Owing to the density of the growth, a part of the regiment were separated from the colors. The other part formed in an open field behind the thicket. The retreat continued over ground alternately wood and field. At every open spot they would reform, pour a volley into the pursuing enemy and again retire.
From the accounts of the enemy who stopped to give water to the wounded and rifle the dead, it seems that the 8th cut to pieces the 6th Massachusetts, half demolished the Rhode Islanders, and made deadly havoc among the Regulars.
But a horrible mistake occurred at this point. – Their own friends, taking them for the enemy, poured a fatal fire upon their mutilated ranks.
At length they withdrew from the fight. Their final rally was with some sixty men of the six hundred they took in. Balaklava tells no more heroic tale than this: “Into the valley of death marched the six hundred.”
As they retired, they passed Gen. Beauregard. – He drew aside, fronted, raised his hat, and said, “I salute the 8th Georgia with my hat off.”
Of all the companies of the regiment, the Oglethorpe Light Infantry suffered most. They were on the extreme right nearest the enemy, and this were more exposed. Composed of the first young gentlemen of Savannah, their terrible loss will throw a gloom over their whole city.
An organization of five or six years’ standing, they were the favorite corps of Savannah. Colonel Bartow had long been Captain and was idolized by them, while he had a band of sons in them. It is supposed that his deep grief at the mutilation of his boys caused him to expose his life more recklessly than was necessary. He wished to die with them, if he could not take them back home.
They fought with heroic desperation. All young, all unmarried, all gentlemen, there was not one of the killed who was not an ornament to his community and freighted with brilliant promise.
In sending them to Virginia, Savannah sent her best to represent her, and their loss proves how well they stood up, ho well that city was represented upon a field where all were brave.
This company was the first one to offer its services to President Davis under the Confederate act authorizing him to receive independent companies, and had the honor of being first received. They left home in disobedience to the orders of their Governor, and brought away their arms in defiance of his authority, so eager were they to go where our country needed her best soldiers.
They were one of the two companies that took Fort Pulaski. When there was a riot expected in Savannah, early in the year, they were called out to quell it, with another corps.
Their whole history is one of heroism. First to seek peril, they have proved in their sad fate how nobly they can endure it.
The will inevitably make their mark during the continuance of this holy war. They have enlisted for the whole war, and not one will turn back who can go forward, until it is ended, or they are completely annihilated.
After the gallant 8th had retired with but a fragment, Col. Bartow, by Gen. Beauregard’s order, brought up the 7th Georgia, exclaiming, in reply to Col. Gartrell, of the 7th, who asked him where they should go – “Give me your flag, and I will tell you.”
Leading them to their stand amid a terrific fire, he posted the regiment fronting the enemy, and exclaimed in those eloquent tones so full of high feeling that his friends ever expected from him – “Gen. Beauregard says you must hold this position, and, Georgians, I appeal to you to hold it.”
Regardless of life, gallantly riding amid the hottest fire, cheering the men, inspiring them with his fervent courage, he was shot in the heart, and fell from his horse. They picked him up. With both hands clasped over his breast, he raised his head and with a God-like effort, his eye glittering in its last gleam with a blazing light, he said, with a last heroic flash of his lofty spirit, “They have killed me, but, boys, NEVER give up the field,” – emphasizing the “never” in his peculiar and stirring manner, that all who know him will do feelingly recall.
This perished as noble a soul as ever breathed. – He will long live in remembrance. He met the fate he most wished – the martyred patriot’s grave. He was a pure patriot, an able statesman, a brilliant lawyer, a chivalric soldier, a spotless gentleman. – His imperious scorn of littleness was one of his leading characteristics. His lofty patriotism will consign his name to an immortal page in his country’s history.
We are kindly permitted to publish, almost entire, the following letter from a surviving Oglethorpe to his mother. We think our readers will agree with us that it the most interesting yet published. Our young friend has proved himself an artist with the pan as well as the pencil. It is proper to remark that it was not written for publication, but it will be found all the more admirable for that reason:
Manassas Junction, July 22, 1861.
My Dear Mother: Sunday, July 21st, 1861, will be a day never to be forgotten. A more glorious victory, or a more decisive one, never occurred on the continent. What wailing there will be throughout the land; the wounded and the dead on every side. I have seen as much blood and as many awful scenes as would do for a lifetime! A battle! how awful!
On last Thursday we left our encampment near Winchester, and marched all that day and the succeeding night, with the exception of two hours, when we halted to rest. At half past 11 that night we crossed the Shenandoah, pulled off our clothes, put them with our accoutrements on our heads and shoulders, and forded the river. The most of us had nothing to eat on the march. Day before yesterday we were encamped about eight miles from this place. Yesterday morning, about six o’clock, we received orders to march, after having advanced about a mile, we could hear, every now and then, the report of a cannon. – We halted, inspected our arms, and loaded our muskets. Col Gardner said to us, “Men, I am no public speaker, but recollect to sustain the honor of the State from which you come.” We gave him three cheers, and then continued on our march. The firing became more distinct as we advanced, but it was only a single gun, and that at intervals of about fifteen minutes, but it was sufficient to show that the ball had commenced; after a while, we could see the smoke from the cannon.
We must have marched about eight miles up one hill, and down another, with the sun intensely hot and plenty of dust, when we were brought up on the brow of a hill in a corn field, from whence we could see the enemy advancing in immense numbers.
Then the firing commenced in good earnest, and appeared to be on every side. A battery began to play on us, the first shot passing just above our regiment. You can have no idea, not the slightest, of what a peculiar noise and at what a distance you can hear a ball passing through the air. Several balls and bombs struck within a few yards of us, tearing up the earth and making the dust fly.
Col. G. ordered us to lie down flat on the ground, I suppose a hundred bombs and balls passed over us, not more than ten feet above us, and very often bursting and falling very near us. One fell in the Macon Guards, the company next to ours, wounding two of their men. – They were the first men in our regiment to spill their blood. The balls would tear away the limbs from apple trees near us, and one bomb fell and exploded not over fifteen feet from where several of the boys and myself were lying. It threw the dust all over me. After we had laid there about three quarters of an hour a courier came, saying Gen. Bee wanted a regiment to assist him. We were ordered to rise, and marched down between the fire of both sides, the balls whizzing over us incessantly. It seemed as though one passed every second. Sometimes a shell would burst in the air, leaving a little cloud of white smoke, which looked beautifully. After passing the batteries, we were placed in a pine grove and small saplings, and then commenced the work. The enemy were not more than a hundred yards from us, and had the advantage in position, as also a house, fence and hay stacks as defense, while we had no protection, the trees being too small to prove such. There must have been several regiments against us, our own being not six hundred men, but all brave fellows. At the word fire we rushed to the edge of the thicket and fired. I took deliberate aim. We then laid down, loaded and fired. The balls from the enemy fall like hail around us, tearing the bark from the trees. Our company and the Rome Light Guards were exposed to the most galling fire; a great many men were behind us, and in firing I am certain wounded some of our men. While loading for my second discharge, a ball struck me and I believed myself wounded. It pained a good deal, I looked, but could see no blood. George Butler, noble fellow, who was lying by my side, loading his musket, my right arm touching him, was shot; he jumped up, ran to the rear, and died in a few minutes. Bob Baker then ran up, and, as I saw him, (I was then on my back loading) I said, “Hello, old fellow, is this you?” He said, “Yes, Jim,” and laughed, and was just in the act of firing when he was shot. The blood flew over my hand and the stock of my gun. He rolled over groaning, and I thought he was shot in the heart. He was not killed, however, but badly wounded in the arm. Several others were killed and wounded within a few feet of me. I continued at my position, expecting every moment to be killed, until I was nearly shot by one of our own men in the rear, when I retired ten or twelve feet back.
Col Gardner, who was in front of us, was ordering us to charge the enemy, but in the noise his voice could not be heard, and a Minie balls struck him in the leg, below the knee, passing entirely through, and fracturing the bone. Gen. Bartow ordered us to retreat under cover of one of our batteries, as he knew it was madness for us to stay there. Had we laid there a half our longer, I believe not a man would have survived. Col. G. says he never saw such firing. Another ball struck me on the sole of my shoe, but did not damage.
As we were retiring, I stopped to take a mouthful of mud – scarcely could it be called water – my mouth was awfully hot and dry; just then I met Capt McGruder, who, pointing to a clump of bushes, said, “Col. Gardner is wounded” – the first I knew of it. I immediately went there, and there lay our gallant Colonel, with several men around him. I threw down my musket, took his wounded leg in my arms, while the others supported his body; it was then I saw our own beloved commander, our Gen. Bartow, for the last time – very soon after he received his death-wound. We made all the haste we could to get the Colonel on, as the enemy were advancing. Seeing our regiment retreat they supposed we were defeated, and were pushing on rapidly, the balls still falling around us, but when the enemy were only a little distance behind us, we being in rear of our regiment going up a steep hill, only able to advance slowly, the enemy opened a terrific fire. It is amazing that we were not all cut to pieces, for the balls passed between our very legs. Three of us stuck to the Colonel, but finding it impossible to succeed in carrying him off, and his leg being very painful, we stopped, after having carried him about a quarter of a mile, and laid him down in a sort of gully, hoping thus to be protected from random shots. His head was on my arm; Heidt, of our company, and Banon, of the Rome Light Guard, were the two men who were with me. The Colonel entreated them to leave him and try to rejoin the regiment and save their lives., (I had told him I would remain with him) but they refused to go. I firmly believe, if found, that we would be bayoneted. We had one gun; the enemy about sixty yards off – three regiments distinctly seen. I told the Colonel I would load it, and fight it out, that we might as well kill as many as possible. Do not consider this any bravery on my part, the veriest coward would have done the same thing, believing, as I did, that he must be killed. The Colonel said “No, if we keep quiet we might not be observed.” The enemy, in the meantime, coming on in line of battle, one regiment came within twenty feet of us; one man raised his rifle and took aim at us, and I raised a white handkerchief on the ramrod, and told them, “We surrender.” The officers then came up. I asked permission to take the Colonel down the hill to a spring where we could get water. They said “certainly.” We did so, and several physicians came up. They all treated us honorably and as prisoners of war. Never was I more surprised; the physicians examined the Colonel’s leg, had a litter brought for him, gave us water, and in all respects treated us with every kindness. Several of our wounded were lying around, and all of them received the same kind attentions. They asked us if we did not know how utterly useless it was to attempt to resist; that they “could sweep us all away – that they had fifty thousand men as a reinforcement. At the time they felt confident of glorious victory. While there, the balls and shot of our batteries tore away the limbs of trees all around us. With the assistance of one of their men, we got the Colonel to their hospital – an old farm house – a quarter mile distant.
We laid him under a tree in the shade. Their wounded were being brought in in large numbers – the whole yard was strewn with them, lying all about in the shade. The old farm house appeared to be their headquarters as well as the hospital, and we had not been there more than a half hour before they began to prepare for a retreat, and then ensued a scene of the wildest confusion. But we had time to observe that their men are far better equipped, in all respects, for a campaign than ours. The wounded, believing they would surely be killed, begged earnestly not to be left. They ordered us to put the Colonel on board and carry him with them, but he told them he would rather that they should shoot him there and then than move him again, and tried to persuade them to leave their wounded, with the physicians to attend them, pledging his word that if they would raise a yellow flag not a shot would be fired in that direction, and that their wounded should receive every attention, but their confusion was too great to admit of their listening to reason. At length, however, the Colonel persuaded them to leave some of their wounded, as well as ours, and six of their men to attend them, pledging himself that they should not be considered not treated as prisoners, nor would ours; and that their men should be returned as soon as possible. To this they consented.
Our batteries were now beginning to open on the house. Col. G. ordered a white flag of some sort to be raised. Our handkerchiefs were all too badly soiled, so I took off a part of an undergarment and tied it to a bedstead post, and ran up stairs, but found no possible way of getting on the house, and stuck it out of one of the windows. I could distinctly see our battery – the balls came nearer. I expected momentarily to see the old house knocked down. The balls continued to whiz. I went down into the yard, and was convinced that they did not see the flag. I jerked off my blue shirt, tied my undershirt to a pole, and climbed the chimney to an out-house. It was very broad, and from our batteries looked like an embankment. Heidt was standing near the foot of the chimney. I had nothing on but my pants; while trying to fasten up the pole our batteries must have taken me for one of the enemy attempting to mount a battery. The first thing I knew I heard a ball coming. It could not have passed more than three feet above me – it whizzed through the trees beyond. I was rather scared. I then put up another flag out in the field, which as soon as they observed they ceased firing at the house.
The rest of the day I was busy unceasingly in giving water to the wounded, and trying to fix up their wounds the best way I could. There was no physician there – all had gone when the enemy fled. My hand was in blood all day; nothing but blood. About every half hour I would go round the yard, give each of them a drink of water – so grateful, poor fellows! On one of my rounds I found that two or three had died while I was away. They were shot in every conceivable place.
Towards night we procured and ambulance and brought Col Garner here, where he has a tent, and I am nursing him. He is a noble man – bears it so well – as cool as a cucumber. He sent me down to the battle field this morning on business. I did not get back until two hours ago, it now being half past twelve. I sit up with him till one, when Frank, the negro man, will take his turn. I saw Bob; he is quite well.
We took 78 men into the fight (the O.L.I.) To show how terrible was the firing: six were killed, twenty were wounded, twenty-nine struck but not hurt, leaving only sixteen untouched; and they, when he fell, gathered round our noble hero, our beloved Gen. Bartow. We have gained a glorious victory – taken sixty-two pieces of guns. But all this the papers have told you. But oh! it is impossible to begin to describe the horrors of a battle field for a day or two after or at the time. The most of the killed have been buried, and yet today (23d) when I rode over to the field the dead were still strewn about in every direction – dead horses all over the field. The stench was so intolerable I could scarcely force the horse I was riding to go. I must acknowledge I had but a faint idea of what a battle was, nor am I so anxious as before for a fight; and yet to-morrow, if our company were to go, and our country needed our services, I should not hesitate a moment. I would go.
You must excuse this wretched scrawl, I am so tired. I have been so busy I have not had time to write. I have washed my face but twice since the battle. Our brave boys, who so nobly died, were buried yesterday, 22d, in one grave – side by side – noble, glorious fellows – brothers in arms, brothers in death. John Branch first, George Butler second, Willie Crane third, Bryan Morel fourth, Tom Purse fifth, Julius Ferrill sixth. The wounded are most of them at Culpepper C. H.
That ball that struck my leg left a mark but did not draw blood. I was a little scared in the fight, though my hand was steady, and I think I killed one Yankee. It was through the mercy of Almighty God that I was spared. I never expected it. I had an idea that I should be shot, but I knew that I was fighting for my country in a just cause, and that God’s holy will must be done. Mother, I was thinking of it this evening as I rode along, ’twas those many, many earnest prayers of yours to a merciful God that spared us.
I saw Charlie Daniell and Steve Barnwell this evening.; they are both well. Rockwell is all right, tell his mother.
Per Wilkinson and Woodworth, A Scythe of Fire, the author is James B. Grant and the letter was written on July 22, 1861 [though most likely begun that day, and finished no earlier than the 23rd, per the narrative – BR.] Per this roster, Grant was a private in Co. B at First Bull Run. In June 1863 he would be appointed 1st Lieutenant to serve as then General William Gardner’s ADC.
This post updates and earlier post of an abbreviated version of this letter published in the New Orleans Crescent on 8/8/1861, contributed by John Hennessy.
“I am sending you these little incidents as I hear them well authenticated. They form, to the friends of the parties, part of the history of the glorious 21st. More anon.”
About
Hello! I’m Harry Smeltzer and welcome to Bull Runnings, where you'll find my digital history project on the First Battle of Bull Run which is organized under the Bull Run Resources section. I'll also post my thoughts on the processes behind the project and commentary on the campaign, but pretty much all things Civil War are fair game. You'll only find musings on my “real job” or my personal life when they relate to this project. My mother always told me "never discuss politics or religion in mixed company”, and that's sound advice where current events are concerned.
The Project
This site is more than a blog. Bull Runnings also hosts digitized material pertaining to First Bull Run. In the Bull Run Resources link in the masthead and also listed below are links to Orders of Battle, After Action Reports, Official Correspondence, Biographical Sketches, Diaries, Letters, Memoirs, Newspaper Accounts and much, much more. Take some time to surf through the material. This is a work in process with no end in sight, so check back often!
Harry Smeltzer
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