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.

* * *

'He tires betimes, that too fast spurs betimes."--Shakespeare.

"Fall in, men! Fall in Company D!"

It was after two o'clock on the morning of July 21.

We had scarcely slept. For two or three days we had been in a constant state of nervous expectancy. On the 18th the armed reconnaissance on Bull Run had brought more than our generals had counted on; we had heard the combat, but had taken no part in it. Now the attack by the left had been abandoned.

The early part of the night of the 20th had been spent in trying to get rations; at twelve o'clock we had two days' cooked rations in our haversacks.

At about three o'clock the regiment turned south, into the road for Centreville.

Willis said that we were to flank Beauregard's left; but nobody took the trouble to assent or deny.

At Centreville there was a long and irksome halt; some lay down--in the road--by the side of the road; some kept their feet and moved about impatiently.

An army seemed to be passing in the road before our column, and we must wait till the way was clear.

Little noise was made by the column marching on the road intersecting ours. There was light laughter occasionally, but in general the men were silent, going forward with rapid strides, or standing stock still when brought to an abrupt halt whenever the head of the column struck an obstacle.

I slept by snatches, awaking every time in a jump. Everybody was nervous; even the officers could not hide their irritation.

* * *

Six o'clock came. The road was clear; the sun was nearly two hours high.

Forward we went at a swinging gait down the road through the dust. In ten minutes the sweat was rolling. No halt--no pause--no command, except the everlasting "Close up! close up!"

Seven o'clock ... we turn to the right--northwest--a neighbourhood road; ... fields; ... thickets; ... hills--not so much dust now, but the sun getting hotter and hotter, and hotter and hotter getting our thirst.

And Sunday morning ... Close up! close up!

Hear it? Along the southeast the horizon smokes and booms. Hear it? The cannon roar in the valley below us.

Eight o'clock ... seven miles; nine o'clock ... ten miles; ... a ford--we cross at double-quick; ... a bridge--we cross at double-quick; the sound of cannon and small arms is close in our front.

What is that confusion up on the hill? Smoke and dust and fire.

See them? Four men with another--and that other, how the red blood streams from his head!

What are they doing up on the hill? They are dying up on the hill. Why should they die?

Ah, me! ah, me!

The Eleventh is formed at the foot of the hill; the commander rides to its front:

"Colour--bearer--twelve--paces--to the front--MARCH! Bat-tal-ion--pre-sent--ARMS!"

Then, with drawn sword, the colonel also salutes the flag--and cries, DIES BY IT!

A mortal cold goes to the marrow of my bones; my comrades' faces are white as death.

"Bat-tal-ion--fix--BAYONETS!

"For-ward--guide centre--MARCH!"

Slowly we move up the hill; the line sways in curves; we halt and re-form.

We lie down near the crest; shells burst over us; shells fly with a dreadful hissing beyond us. I raise my head; right-oblique is a battery; ... it is hidden in smoke; again I see the guns and the horses and the men; they load and fire, load and fire.

A round shot strikes the ground in our front ... rises ... falls ... rises--goes over. We fire at the smoke.

Down flat on your face! Do you hear the singing in the air? Thop! Johnson is hit; he runs to the rear, bending over until his height is lost.

And now a roar like that of a waterfall; I look again ... the battery has disappeared ... but the smoke rises and I see a long line of men come out of the far-off woods and burst upon the guns. The men of the battery flee, and the rebels swarm among the captured pieces.

Now there are no more hissing shells or bullets singing. We rise and look,--to our right a regiment is marching forward ... no music, no drum ... marching forward, flag in the centre ... colonel behind the centre, dismounted,--the men march on; quick time, right-shoulder-shift; the fleeing cannoneers find safety behind the regiment always marching on. The rebels at the battery are not in line; some try to drag away the guns; swords flash in the hot sun; ... the rebels re-form; ... they lie down; ... and now the regiment is at double-quick with trailed arms; ... the rebel line rises and delivers its fire.

The smoke swallows everything.

* * *

Again I see. The rebel line has melted away. Our own men hold the battery. They try to turn the guns once more on the fleeing rebels; and now a rebel battery far to the left works fast upon the regiment in disorder. A fresh rebel line comes from the woods and rushes for the battery with the sound of many voices. Our men give way ... they run--the officers are frantic; all run, all run ... and the cavalry ride from, the woods, and ride straight through our flying men and strike ... and many of the fugitives fire upon the horsemen, who in turn flee for their lives.

* * *

It is long past noon; the sun is a huge red shield; the world is smoke. Another regiment has gone in; the roar of battle grows; crowds of wounded go by; a battery gallops headlong to the rear ... the men madly lash the horses.

"Bat-tal-ion--ATTENTION!"

Our time is upon us; the Eleventh, stands and forms.

"For-ward--MARCH!"

The dust is so dense that I can see nothing in the front, ... but we are moving. Smith drops; Lewis falls to the rear; the ranks are thinning; elbows touch no longer ... our pace quickens ... a horrid impatience seizes me ... through the smoke I see the cannons ... faster, faster ... I see the rebel line--a tempest breaks in my face--"Surrender, you damned Yankee!"

* * *

"And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile."--SHAKESPEARE.

I am running for life--a mass of fugitives around me--disorderly mob ... I look behind--nothing but smoke ... I begin to walk.

The army was lost; it was no longer an army. As soon as the men had run beyond gunshot they began to march, very deliberately, each one for himself, away from the field. Companies, regiments, and brigades were intermingled. If the rebels had been in condition to pursue us, many thousands of our men would have fallen into their hands.

In vain I tried to find some group of Company D. Suddenly I felt exhausted--sick from hunger and fatigue--and was compelled to stop and rest. The line of the enemy did not seem to advance, and firing in our rear had ceased.

A man of our company passed me--Edmonds. I called to him, "Where is the company?"

"All gone," said he; "and you'd better get out of that, too, as quick as you can."

"Tell me who is hurt," said I.

But he was gone, and I felt that it would not do for me to remain where I was. I remembered Dr. Khayme's encouraging words as to my will, and by great effort resolved to rise and run.

At length, as I was going down the slope toward the creek, I heard my name called. I looked round, and saw a man waving his hand, and heard him call me again. I went toward him. It was Willis; he was limping; his hat was gone; everything was gone; in fact, he was hardly able to march.

"Where are you hit?" I asked.

"The knee," he replied.

"Bad?"

"I don't think it is serious; it seems to me that it don't pain me as it did awhile ago."

"Can you hold out till we find an ambulance?" I asked.

"Well, that depends; I guess all the ambulances are needed for men worse off than I am."

Just then an officer rode along, endeavouring to effect some order, but the men gave no attention to him at all. They had taken it into their heads to go. By this time the routed troops before us were packed between the high banks of the roadway which went down toward the creek. I was desperately hungry, having eaten nothing since five o'clock in the morning.

"Let's stay here and eat something," said I to Willis, "and let the crowd scatter before we go on."

"No, not yet," said he; "we need water first. I couldn't swallow a mouthful without water. Whiskey wouldn't hurt either. Got any water in your canteen?"

"Not a drop," said I.

Although Willis was limping badly, the slow progress of the troops at this point allowed him to keep up. At the bottom of the hill, where the road strikes the low ground, the troops had greater space; some of them followed their leaders straight ahead on the road; others went to the right and left, seeking to avoid the crowd.

"Let's go up the creek," said Willis.

"What for?"

"To get water; I'm dying of thirst."

"Do you think you can stand it awhile longer?"

"Yes; at any rate, I'll keep a-goin' as long as God lets me, and I can stand it better if I can get water and something to eat."

"Well, then, come on, and I'll help you as long as I can."

He leaned on me, hobbling along as best he could, and bravely too, although, at every step he groaned with pain.

I had become somewhat attached to Willis. He was egotistic--just a little--but harmlessly so, and his senses were sound and his will was good; I had, too, abundant evidence of his liking for me. He was a strapping fellow, more than six feet tall and as strong as a bullock. So, while I fully understood the danger in tying myself to a wounded comrade, I could not find it in my heart to desert him, especially since he showed such determination to save himself. Besides, I knew that he was quick-witted and country-bred; and I had great hope that he would prove more of a help than a hindrance.

We followed a few stragglers who had passed us and were now running up the creek seeking a crossing. The stream was shallow, but the banks were high, and in most places steep. Men were crossing at almost all points. Slowly following the hurrying groups of twos and threes who had outstripped us, we found at length, a place that seemed fordable for Willis. It was where a small branch emptied into the creek; and by getting into the branch, above its mouth, and following its course, we should be able to cross the creek.

"Lord! I am thirsty," said Willis; "but look how they have muddied the branch; it's as bad as the creek."

"That water wouldn't do us any good," I replied.

"No," said he; "it would make us sick."

"But what else can we do?"

"Let's go up the branch, a little," said he.

All sounds in our rear had long since died away. The sun was yet shining, but in the thick forest it was cool and almost dark. I hoped that water, food, and a little rest would do us more good than harm--that time would be saved, in effect.

A hundred yards above the mouth of the branch, we found the water clear. I still had my canteen, my haversack with a cup in it, and food. Willis lay on the ground near the stream, while I filled my canteen; I handed it to him, and then knelt in the wet sand and drank.

The spot might have been well chosen for secrecy; indeed, we might have remained there for days were it not for fear. A giant poplar had been uprooted by some storm and had crushed in its fall an opening in, the undergrowth. The trunk spanned the little brook, and the boughs, intermingling with the copse, made a complete hiding-place.

I helped Willis to cross the branch; then we lay with the log at our backs and completely screened from view.

Willis drank another great draught of water. I filled the canteen again, and examined his wound. His knee was stiff and much swollen; just under the knee-cap was a mass of clotted blood; this I washed away, using all the gentle care at my command, but giving him, nevertheless, great pain. A small round hole was now sean, and by gently pressing on its walls, I thought I detected the presence of the ball.

"Sergeant," said I, "it's in there; I don't believe it's more than half an inch, deep."

"Then pull it out," said Willis,

That was more easily said than done. Willis was lying flat on his back, eating ravenously. From moment to moment I stuffed my mouth with hardtack and pork.

I sharpened a reed and introduced its point into the wound; an obstacle was met at once--but how to get it out? The hole was so small that I conjectured the wound had been made by a buck-shot, the rebels using, as we ourselves, many smooth-bore muskets, loaded with buck-and-ball cartridges.

"Willis," said I, "I think I'd better not undertake this job; suppose I get the ball out, who knows that that will be better for you? Maybe you'd lose too much blood."

"I want it out," said Willis.

"But suppose I can't got it out; we might lose an hour and do no good. Besides, I must insist that I don't like it. I think my business is to let your leg alone; I'm no surgeon."

"Take your knife," said Willis, "and cut the hole bigger."

The wound was bleeding afresh, but I did not tell him so.

"No," said I; "your leg is too valuable for me to risk anything of that kind."

"You refuse?"

"I positively refuse," said I.

We had eaten enough. The sun was almost down. Far away a low rumbling was heard, a noise like the rolling of cars or of a wagon train.

Willis reluctantly consented to start. I went to the brook and kneaded some clay into the consistency of plaster; I took off my shirt, and tore it into strips. Against the naked limb, stiffened out, I applied a handful of wet clay and smoothed it over; then I wrapped the cloths around the knee, at every fold smearing the bandage with clay. I hardly knew why I did this, unless with the purpose of keeping the knee-joint from bending; when the clay should become dry and hard the joint would be incased in a stiff setting which I hoped would serve for splints. Willis approved the treatment, saying that clay was good for sprains, and might be good for wounds.

I helped the sergeant to his feet. He could stand, but could hardly move.

"Take my gun," said I, "and use it as a crutch."

He did as I said, but the barrel of the gun sank into the soft earth; after two strides he said, "Here! I can get along better without it." Meanwhile I had been sustaining part of his weight.

I saw now that I must abandon my gun--a smooth-bore, on the stock of which, with a soldier's vanity, I had carved the letters J. B. I broke the stock with one blow of the barrel against the poplar log.

I was now free to help Willis. Slowly and painfully we made our way through the bottom. The cool water of the creek rose above our knees and seemed to cheer the wounded man. The ascent of the further bank was achieved, but with great difficulty.

BULL RUN, July 2l, 1861.

We rested a little while. Here, in the swamp, night was falling. We saw no one, neither pursuers nor pursued. At length, after much and painful toil, we got through the wood. The last light of day showed us a small field in front. Willis leaned against a tree, his blanched face showing his agony. I let down a gap in the fence.

It was clearly to be seen that the sergeant could do no more, and I decided to settle matters without consulting him. In the field I had seen some straw stacks. We succeeded in reaching them. At the bottom of the smallest, I hollowed out a sort of cave. The work took but a minute. Willis was looking on dully; he was on the bare ground, utterly done for with pain and weariness. At length, he asked, "What's that for?"

"For you," I replied.

He said no more; evidently he appreciated the situation and at the same time was too far gone to protest. I made him a bed and pulled the overhanging straw thinly around him, so as effectually to conceal him from any chance passer-by; I took off my canteen and haversack and placed them within his reach. Then, with a lump in my throat, I bade him good-by.

"Jones," said he, "God bless you."

"Sergeant," I said, "go to sleep if you can. I shall try to return and get you; I am going to find help; if I can possibly get help, I will come back for you to-night; but if by noon to-morrow you do not see me, you must act for the best. It may become necessary for you to show yourself and surrender, in order to get your wound properly treated; all this country will be ransacked by the rebel cavalry before to-morrow night."

"Yes, I know that," said Willis; "I will do the best I can. God bless you, Jones."

Alone and lightened, I made my way in the darkness to the road which we had left when we began to seek the ford. I struck the road a mile or more to the north of Bull Run. There was no moon; thick clouds gave warning of rain. I knew that to follow this road--the same circuitous road by which we had advanced in the morning--was not to take the nearest way to Centreville. I wanted to find the Warrenton turnpike, but all I knew was that it was somewhere to my right. I determined to make my way as rapidly as I could in that direction through the fields and thickets.

For an hour or more I had blundered on through brush and brake, when suddenly I seemed to hear the noise of a moving wagon. I went cautiously in the direction of the sound, which soon ceased.

By dint of straining my eyes I could see an oblong form outlined against the sky.

I went toward it; I could hear horses stamping and harness rattling; still, I could see no one. The rear of the wagon, if it was a wagon, was toward me.

I reasoned: "This cannot be a rebel ambulance; there would be no need for it here; it must be one of ours, or else it is a private carriage; it certainly is not an army wagon."

I advanced a little nearer, I had made up my mind to halloo, and had opened my lips, when a voice came from the ambulance--a voice which I had heard before, and which, stupefied me with astonishment.

"Is that you, Jones?"

I stood fixed. I seemed to recognize the voice, but surely my supposition must be impossible.

A man got out of the ambulance, and approached; he had a pipe in his mouth; he was a small man, not more than five feet tall. I felt as though in the presence of a miracle.

"I have been seeking you," he said.

* * *