Who Goes There?

"Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm."--Shakespeare.

In the afternoon we broke camp and marched toward the west. It was July 16, 1861.

The bands were playing "Carry me back to old Virginia."

I was in the Eleventh. Orders had been read, but little could be understood by men in the ranks. Nothing was clear to me, in these orders, except two things:--

First, to be surprised would be unpardonable.

Second, to fall back would be unpardonable.

* * *

It was four o'clock. The road was ankle-deep in dust; the sun burnt our faces as we marched toward the west. Up hill and down hill, up hill and down hill, we marched for an hour, west and southwest.

We halted; from each company men were detailed to fill canteens. The city could no longer he seen.

Willis pointed to the north. Willis was a big, red-haired sergeant--a favourite with the men.

I looked, and saw clouds of dust rising a mile or two away.

"Miles's division," says Willis.

"What is on our left?"

"Nothing," says Willis.

"How do you know?"

"We are the left," says Willis.

The sergeant had studied war a little; he had some infallible views.

The sergeant-major, with his diamond stripes, and his short sword saluting, spoke to a captain, who at once reported to the colonel at the head of the regiment. The captain returned to his post:--

"Comp-a-ny--B ... ATTENTION!" ...

"Shudda ... HOP!" ...

"LOAD!" ...

"Shudda ... HOP!" ...

"R-i-i-i-i-ght ... FACE!" ...

"Fah--w-u-u-u-d ... MOTCH!" ...

"Fi--lef ... MOTCH!"

Company B disappeared in the bushes on our left.

The water-detail returned; the regiment moved forward.

Passing over a rising ground, Willis pointed to the left. I could see some black spots in a stubble-field.

"Company B; skirmishers," says Willis.

"Any rebels out that way?"

"Don't know. Right to be ready for 'em," says Willis.

Marching orders had been welcomed by the men, and the first few miles had been marked by jollity; the jest repeated growing from four to four; great shouts had risen, at seeing the dust made by our columns advancing on parallel roads. The air was stagnant, the sun directly in our faces. This little peaked infantry cap is a damnable outrage. The straps across my shoulders seemed to cut my flesh. Great drops rolled down my face. My canteen was soon dry. The men were no longer erect as on dress parade. Each one bent over--head down. The officers had no heavy muskets--no heavy cartridge-boxes; they marched erect; the second lieutenant was using his sword for a walking-cane. "Close up!" shouted the sergeants. My heels were sore. The dust was stifling.

Another halt; a new detail for water.

The march continued--a stumbling, staggering march, in the darkness. A hundred yards and a halt of a minute; a quarter of a mile and a halt of half an hour; an exasperating march. At two o'clock in the morning we were permitted to break ranks. I was too tired to sleep. Where we were I knew not, and I know not--somewhere in Fairfax County, Virginia. Willis, who was near me, lying on his blanket, his cartridge-box for a pillow, said that we were the left of McDowell's army; that the centre and right extended for miles; that the general headquarters ought to be at Fairfax Court-House at this moment, and that if Beauregard didn't look sharp he would wake up some fine morning and find old Heintz in his rear.

* * *

Before the light we were aroused by the reveillé.

The moving and halting process was resumed, and was kept up for many hours. We reached the railroad. Our company was sent forward to relieve the pickets. We were in the woods, and within a hundred yards of a feeble rivulet which, ran from west to east almost parallel with our skirmish-line; nothing could be seen in front but trees. Beyond the stream vedettes were posted on a ridge. The men of the company were in position, but at ease. The division was half a mile in our rear.

I was lying on my back at the root of a scrub-oak very like the blackjacks of Georgia and the Carolinas. The tree caused me to think of my many sojourns in the South. Willis was standing a few yards away; he was in the act of lighting his pipe.

"What's that?" said he, dropping the match.

"What's what?" I asked.

"There! Don't you hear it? two--three--"

At the word "three" I heard distinctly, in the far northwest, a low rumble. All the men were on their feet, silent, serious. Again the distant cannon was heard.

About five o'clock in the afternoon the newspapers from Washington were in our hands. In one of the papers a certain war correspondent had outlined, or rather amplified, the plan of the campaign. Basing his prediction, doubtless, upon the fact that he knew something of the nature of the advance begun on the 16th, the public was informed that Heintzelman's division would swing far to the left until the rear of Beauregard's right flank was reached; at the same time Miles and Hunter would seize Fairfax Court-House, and threaten the enemy's centre and left, and would seriously attack when Heintzelman should give the signal. Thus, rolled up from the right, and engaged everywhere else, the enemy's defeat was inevitable.

The papers were handed from one to another. Willis chuckled a little when he saw his own view seconded, although, he was beginning to be afraid that his plans were endangered.

"I told you that headquarters last night would be Fairfax Court-House," said he; "but the firing we heard awhile ago means that our troops have been delayed. Beauregard is awake."

Just at sunset I was sent forward to relieve a vedette. This was my first experience of the kind. A sergeant accompanied me. We readied a spot from which, through the trees, the sentinel could be seen. He was facing us, instead of his front. The poor fellow--Johnson, of our company--had, been on post for two mortal hours, and was more concerned about the relief in his rear than about the enemy that might not be in his front. The sergeant halted within a few paces of the vedette, while I received instructions. I was to ascertain from the sentinel any peculiarity of his post and the general condition, existing in his front, and then, dismiss him to the care of the sergeant. Johnson, could tell me nothing. He had seen nothing; had heard nothing. He retired and I was alone.

The ground was somewhat elevated, but not sufficiently so to enable one to see far in front. The vedette on either flank was invisible. Night was falling. A few faint stars began to shine. A thousand insects were cheeping; a thousand frogs in disjointed concert welcomed the twilight. A gentle breeze swayed the branches of the tree above me. Far away--to right or left, I know not--a cow-bell tinkled. More stars came out. The wind died away.

I leaned against the tree, and peered into the darkness.

I wanted to be a good soldier. This day I had heard for the first time the sound of hostile arms. I thought it would be but natural to be nervous, and I found myself surprised when I decided that I was not nervous. The cry of the lone screech-owl below me in the swamp sounded but familiar and appropriate.

That we were to attack the enemy I well knew; a battle was certain unless the enemy should retreat. My thoughts were full of wars and battles. My present duty made me think, of Indians. I wondered whether the rebels were well armed; I knew them; I knew they would fight; I had lived among those misguided people.

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