University of Virginia Library

38. XXXVIII.
TWO BROTHERS.

Shall I tell you, my dear reader, what I saw of the battle of
Manassas? It possesses a perennial interest; but then it is so
familiar! Still I can't well omit some notice of it in these memoirs
of my times. Those who know it all by heart can turn the
leaf.

It was about three in the morning, on the famous 21st, that I
was waked by General Jackson as I lay under a tree, and sent
with a message to General Johnston.

Your toilet is not a heavy affair on the eve of a battle: I had
only to take my riding-cape, buckle on my belt, and rub my eyes.
Then I mounted, and set out for the farm-house where Johnston
and Beauregard had established their joint head-quarters.

The place was in a great bustle. To the fences and the boughs
of the trees were affixed the horses of the staff and couriers,
ready saddled; and mounted men constantly went and came. A
sullen gun, at intervals, from the front, mingled with the clatter
of sabres and the sound of horses' hoofs.

The two Generals were closeted in an inner room. My name
was sent in, and in ten minutes I was informed that I could
enter.

Generals Johnston and Beauregard were seated at a table, upon
which was spread a topographical map of the region, and the
former rested his finger upon Stonebridge.

“This is the key of the position,” he said. “I think the attack
will be here, General.”

I saluted, and was about to deliver my message, when a dispatch
was brought in. Beauregard read it with attention.

“The enemy are moving in heavy force to the left,” he said,
in a low tone. “Captain Mordaunt's scouts report the main body
massing between Centreville and Stonebridge.”

As he spoke his face glowed.

“Now is the time, General,” he said. “Ewell and Bonham
can strike their flank and rear before sunrise.”

Johnston inclined his head.

“Then, no time is to be lost, General.”

This was the authorization for which Beauregard evidently
waited. In an instant he had ordered couriers, and was ardently
dictating orders to his adjutant. I could not help hearing them.
The orders directed the officers commanding the right and centre
to hold themselves ready to advance at a moment's notice, and
attack the Federal rear at Centreville.

Meanwhile, I had delivered my message, which referred to the
disposition of the artillery, and, receiving the orders of General
Johnston, hastened to return. I had scarcely reached camp, and
communicated the result of my mission, when the roar of artillery
was heard from the direction of Stonebridge; and Jackson
ordered his brigade to be gotten under arms.

Orders soon came for him to move and re-enforce Longstreet,
at Blackburn's Ford, below. Before the troops had reached that

point, new orders arrived, directing him to go to the assistance
of General Cocke, near Stonebridge. As the column approached
this point the sun rose, and from the extensive plateau in front
came the sharp crack of musketry. The roar of artillery from
beyond the stream had continued steadily.

“This must be only a demonstration,” muttered Jackson,
and, turning round, he directed me to ride toward Sudley Ford,
and ascertain if any movement was taking place in that direction.

I hastened to obey, and, striking across into the Sudley-Brentsville
road, was soon at the ford, where I found Mordaunt sullenly
falling back, and disputing the ground inch by inch, with an overwhelming
column advancing rapidly from the woods beyond. As
I joined him, a storm of bullets came hissing from a dark line
rapidly advancing, and a portion of the cavalry came back at a
gallop. Mordaunt's face flushed hot, and, drawing his sabre, he
thundered:

“I will kill the first man who attempts to pass me! Form line.
I am falling back—I am not running!”

His voice had its effect; line was formed facing the enemy,
and the men slowly fell back fighting.

“Well, Surry,” said Mordaunt, with entire coolness, “things
are going on badly in this part of the field, and, unless General
Beauregard hurries troops here, he will be flanked and driven out
of his defences on Manassas. There is nothing to check the
enemy. I will die here, if necessary; but it is perfectly useless.
What can I do with one company? That column advancing
numbers at least thirty thousand. I have sent courier after
courier, but yet no reply.”

“I will see that General Johnston knows the extent of the
danger.” And I went back rapidly to report it.

Reaching Colonel Evans first, near Stonebridge, I informed
him of the state of affairs, and he instantly put his command—
about one regiment—in motion, and advanced to check the
enemy.

Then I found General Jackson, and gave him the intelligence.
He at once sent a staff officer, on a fresh horse, to Johnston;

and at that moment a long roar of musketry beyond the hill announced
that Evans had engaged the enemy.

It steadily increased in intensity, but did not recede or approach.
Evans was evidently holding his ground. In an hour,
however, it drew nearer, and the meaning of this was unmistakable.
Then all at once the glitter of bayonets was seen behind
us, and Bee and Bartow appeared, rapidly moving to the threatened
point.

The troops pressed on with cheers—they were seen to form
line of battle on the Henry House hill—then they disappeared
beneath the crest, and the redoubled roar of musketry told that
Bee had engaged the enemy.

The firing from that moment became incessant, and indicated
a desperate conflict. It continued for more than an hour. Then
it rapidly approached, and the cheers of the Federal troops
echoed among the hills. Bee was evidently falling back.

Jackson listened with an unmoved countenance, but a glitter
of the eye, which indicated much in him. All at once the roar
of triumph drew nearer—Bee's men began to appear, straggling
over the hill.

“Attention!” came in Jackson's curt tones, and the men,
who had been lying down, rose to their feet and formed line of
battle.

“Ride to General Bee, Captain, and inform him I am coming
to re-enforce him,” said Jackson.

And I hastened, at a gallop, toward the firing. A regiment
was forming line of battle along the Warrenton road, just to the
right of the Stone House.

“What command is this?” I asked of one of the men.

“The Hampton Legion.”

“What number?”

“Six hundred muskets.”

I rode on rapidly, passing hundreds of stragglers. The roar
of guns was now near at hand—incessant, obstinate; and Bee
was falling back in utter confusion. His broken lines were torn
by shell, canister, and musketry—the struggle was over—the
triumphant enemy were pressing forward with wild cheers.

Suddenly, I heard the sharp crack of Hampton's skirmishers
on the right, and Bee rode up, breathing heavily, covered with
dust and sweat, and holding in his hand his drawn sword, with
which he had been rallying his men. I knew him very well, and
at once delivered my message.

“Thank God!” he replied, hoarsely. “They have broken my
line to pieces—by pure weight of numbers. Men never fought
better. What troops are those, Captain, in the road, yonder?”

“The Hampton Legion.”

“Oblige me by telling Colonel Hampton he must hold his
position until entirely flanked—to the very last.”

I obeyed, and reached Hampton just as a heavy column pressed
down from the direction of Red House Ford and opened fire
upon him.

“Present my respects to General Bee,” said Colonel Hampton,
a tall and fine-looking man, with an air of entire coolness, “and
tell him that I hope to give a good account of the force in my
front. This position will soon be flanked, however, and I shall
be compelled to fall back.”

A volley from the enemy came as he spoke, and he ordered his
men to rise and fire.

The effect was decisive. The six hundred muskets were discharged
almost like a single piece, and the Federal line in front
broke, and retreated under cover of the high ground in their
rear.

I hastened back, and found Bee making desperate efforts to
rally his men. Sword in hand, he rode among them, beseeching
them by all they held dear to re-form their line. His voice was
scarcely heard in the roar of battle, and the enemy pressed on,
driving the Southern lines back in utter disorder.

Finally, they reached the ground near the Stone House I had
visited with Mordaunt, and planted their artillery in the road,
forcing Hampton to fall back. Then there was nothing further
to resist their advance, and Bee, with a look of despair, galloped
in the direction of Jackson. I was with him, and heard the
brave Carolinian groan out, as they came face to face:

“General, they are beating us back!”

Jackson looked for an instant toward the enemy, his lips
moved, and he said, coolly:

“Sir, we will give them the bayonet.”

Bee seemed to gather new resolution from these words, and,
galloping toward his straggling lines, shouted:

“Look! Yonder stands Jackson, like a stone wall. Let us
determine to die here, and we will conquer!”

Jackson had, meanwhile, turned to me, and said, with his habitual
coolness:

“Captain, go to the colonels of all my regiments, and tell
them that my instructions are, as soon as the enemy gets
close enough, say within fifty yards, to charge with the bayonet.”
[1]

This order I conveyed to the different colonels, as they formed
their lines along the eastern crest of the Henry House hill. The
men were ordered to lie down, two pieces of artillery were
thrown forward and opened fire, and under their protection
Bee formed his shattered line in a ravine on Jackson's right.

In face of this new line of battle the enemy did not immediately
advance. They were checked, and the day was saved.

I was looking across the hills to the left, where Mordaunt's
cavalry was seen falling back to take position on the flank, when
Jackson called me and said:

“General Johnston must know exactly the condition of things
here. Present my compliments to him, and tell him that the
enemy are checked, but I must have re-enforcements. If this
hill is lost, all is lost. I am going to seize and hold it; but I
must be supported. Bee is overwhehned. Hampton is driven
back. If the enemy fortify yonder, all is over. Explain this,
and lose no time.”

In half an hour I was at Johnston's head-quarters, still at the
farm-house opposite Mitchell's Ford. He and Beauregard were
in the saddle, anxiously listening to the continuous fire from the
left.

“Well, Captain,” came from Beauregard, the more ardent of
the two.

I saluted, and explained the state of things near Stonebridge.
It evidently produced a deep impression upon both
officers.

“All now depends upon the movement of the right and
centre,” muttered Beauregard, looking in the direction of Centreville.
“Why don't the firing commence?”

“I fear it is too late,” was Johnston's cool reply.

At the same moment, a staff-officer came up, his horse foaming.

“Well, Major?” exclaimed Beauregard.

“General Ewell never received your order, sir, and General
Bonham only just now.”

Beauregard made a gesture in which it was impossible to say
whether anger or disappointment predominated.

“We must fight it out on the left,” said Johnston. “Countermand
the orders to Ewell and Bonham, General, and let us ride
to where the fight is going on.”

In five minutes, the two generals were proceeding at full gallop
toward the scene of action.

They arrived at the moment when the enemy had gained possession
of the Henry House hill, and were pressing forward to attack
Jackson, whose two pieces of artillery were steadily firing in
front of his line.

The attention of the two generals was immediately turned to
the disordered ranks of Bee. Johnston seized the colors of a
Southern regiment, and, leading the men forward, re-formed their
line in face of a heavy fire. Beauregard meanwhile galloped up
and down the lines, his swarthy face glowing, his eyes flashing,
his sonorous voice calling upon the men to stand their ground.
He presented at this moment a splendid picture. The fire of the
born soldier flamed in his regard, and his martial spirit rode, as
it were, upon the wave of battle, rejoicing in the storm.

Under the passionate appeals of the two commanders, the men
speedily rallied, and line of battle was at once formed. Other
regiments and additional artillery had hurried forward, and,
thanks to the bold stand made by Jackson, time had been given
for something like an adequate force to arrive. It amounted, as

I afterward discovered, to only about six or seven thousand men;
but this was enough to show fight until re-enforcements came.

The enemy had now formed a long and heavy line of battle,
upon the Henry House hill, and their artillery crowned every
knoll. They continued to pour a heavy fire of all arms upon the
Southern line, and the only response was from two or three batteries,
under Colonel Pendleton, in Jackson's immediate front.
These were just under the crest, and engaged the Federal batteries
at close range.

Jackson was riding up and down behind them, watching the
fire.

“I expect these boys will all be killed,” he muttered; “but
the occasion demands the sacrifice.”

As he spoke, a fragment of shell struck him in the hand, and
I saw the blood flow.

“You are hurt, General,” I exclaimed.

“It is nothing,” he said, wrapping his handkerchief around it;
and, seeing that the attention of the men had been called to it,
he rode up and down the line, repeating quietly, “Steady, boys,
steady! all's well!”

The fire now became very heavy, and the enemy were steadily
advancing. All at once an officer galloped up, and said, in great
agitation:

“General, the day is going against us.”

Such things peculiarly displeased Jackson. He gave the officer
a quick glance from beneath his old faded cap—such a glance
as I for one should not have liked to encounter—and said, in his
curtest and gruffest tones:

“If you think so, sir, you had better say nothing about it!”

The officer turned away, with a sudden flush upon his countenance.
At the same moment, a loud cheer on the left attracted
our attention, and we saw Colonel Cumming, commanding on
of the regiments of the brigade, charge and capture a Feder
battery.

Jackson's face glowed, and he uttered an exclamation which
proved that all the soldier was aroused in him. But the triumph
was short-lived. Cumming could not hold the battery in face of

the withering fire directed upon him, and we saw him slowly fall
back, as the enemy's whole line swept forward.

It was at this moment that I discerned for the first time in
Jackson the supreme attributes of the man of military genius.
He seemed to rise under pressure, and to grow cooler and more
invincible as peril drew near. The air was full of balls, the whole
scene was one glare of musketry and cannon, and on all sides
were heard groans, cheers, and shouts of triumph or despair; but
it was impossible to discern upon his face any traces whatever of
emotion. It was like a mask of bronze; and his movements were
as calm and measured as if upon parade. In three minutes now
the shock must come, I saw plainly; but Jackson appeared as
indifferent as though perfectly certain of the result.

The long, dark line pressed on, blazing from end to end, and
the artillery was withdrawn at a gallop. It passed around the
right of the line, and then I knew that the moment had come for
the decisive struggle.

Rushing forward with triumphant cheers, the Federal line was
within about seventy-five yards, when I heard Jackson command,
“Charge with the bayonet!”

The men responded with the wildest ardor, delivered a staggering
volley as they rose to their feet, and then rushed up the
slope.

This movement was executed with such suddenness and determination,
that the Federal line recoiled and gave way as the
Southerners dashed upon them. The fire which greeted them
was frightful, but the charge was not checked; and in five minutes
Jackson had pierced the Federal centre, and his troops were
fighting on the ground near the Henry House.

The men never fought better; and, as one after another fell,
the ranks closed up, and the troops kept to their work like veterans
instead of recruits. The boys were even more ardent than
the men; and, as I was carrying an order to the right, I heard the
voice of young Charley Beverley, with whom I had become well
acquainted, though I have not before mentioned the fact, call out
to me in great glee:

“Look, Captain, look! We are driving 'em!”

The young fellow fired his musket as he spoke; but the next
moment I heard him utter a groan, and saw him stagger.

“What's the matter, Charley?”

“Only a scratch,” he replied, turning pale, and trying to smile.
I had just time to throw myself from my horse and catch him in
my arms before he fell. He had been shot through the arm.

Two men whom I called carried him to the rear. I had no
time to attend to him further. Remounting my horse, I hastened
to find Colonel Hampton, near the Henry House. As I went on,
some men were bearing off General Bee. I had no time to speak
to the mortally wounded officer; but I heard him, as I passed,
murmur, “Tell my men not to give up the field!”

Colonel Hampton was rushing forward at the head of his men,
when, just as I reached him, he was struck and fell. The great
Carolinian attempted to rise, but strength failed him, and, waving
his sword for his line to press on, he was borne from the field.

At the same moment I felt my horse stagger—then he fell. A
ball had pierced his chest, and I found myself on foot. The close
roar of musketry drowned every other sound, and officers and
men were falling all around me.

All at once I saw, not far from me, one of the companies of the
brigade which was entirely unofficered, and began to waver.
I ran in the direction of it, and found the men only wanted
some one to lead them. At a word they closed up, and
advanced unbroken, on the Federal line, then rapidly pushing
forward.

So close were the opposing lines at this critical moment, that,
in spite of the dense smoke, I could see almost the “whites of
their eyes.” Suddenly a chill, like that of death, passed through
my frame, and my blood ran cold: in the officer leading a company
of Federal infantry directly in front of me, I recognized my
younger brother Will.

He was on foot in front of the line, waving his sword and
cheering wildly. All at once, as the smoke drifted, his eyes encountered
my own; and I saw, in an instant, that he had recognized
me.

He turned pale, and his sword sank. The cry died away on

his lips. At that instant, I felt a sharp pain in my breast, and
a sort of cloud passed before my eyes. When I opened them, I
saw that the Federal line had swept past me, driving back the
company I had commanded; and bending over me I saw the pale
face of my brother. He supported my head upon his shoulder,
and with his right hand was holding a white handkerchief to my
breast, which was bleeding profusely.

“Brother!” exclaimed the boy, for he was hardly more, “God
forgive me!—you are shot—mortally wounded—and by my own
men!”

I tried to smile.

“I'm afraid they've done for me, Will,” was all I could say,
for the faint feeling came back, and my voice died away.

“How could I know!—to think that we should meet thus!—
to kill you, brother,” he used my old name, “when I love you
more than the whole world!—when I would die for you!”

And I heard a choking sob, mingled with a groan, as, straining
me close to his bosom, he pressed to my cheek his face wet with
tears.

Strange meeting of two brothers after years of separation!
But the interview quickly terminated. The battle had roared on,
and the storm of balls swept over us, as, thus lost in the bloody
gulf of conflict, we had spoken with the old love and tenderness
to each other. Now we were to be torn asunder again. The
Federal line, which had advanced triumphantly a moment before,
was now driven back. The long crash of musketry from Jackson's
line filled the air; and suddenly my brother's company
was seen retreating in disorder.

He wrung his hands, and uttered a sob of agony.

“What can I do, brother!” he exclaimed. “If I stay here, I
am a prisoner—worse still, disgraced! But I would rather die
than leave you dying here!”

I rose upon one arm and pointed to his men.

“Go, Will,” I said; “a Surry can't desert his colors. It's not
your fault that I am shot. Go!—in a moment you will be a
prisoner!”

A sort of convulsion passed over the youthful face, and his

bosom shook. He enclosed me in his arms, and kissed me as he
had done when we were children.

“You are right, brother,” he said, gloomily. “Farewell! I
am going yonder to die!”

With these words he left me, and his figure disappeared amid
the smoke.

All that I remember after this was a frightful commingling
of cheers, yells, groans, and dying cries, over which rose the
heavy roar of artillery and the long, deafening roll of musketry.
For nearly an hour, the opposing lines seemed staggering to and
fro on the extensive plateau, in a breast-to-breast struggle for its
possession. All that I could make out distinctly was, that the
Southern lines still held their ground.

Then a quicker and heavier fire came from the flanks; it advanced;
wild cheers rose from the men of Jackson near, and I
knew that our re-enforcements had arrived, and that the enemy
were giving way. The roar around me redoubled, and all the
furies seemed to be let loose. It was no longer a battle, but a
sort of Pandemonium. But the wild turmoil of battle steadily
receded westward; the Southern lines were seen sweeping forward
like a huge wave; and then I knew that the Federal line
of battle was broken from end to end of the great field.

I half rose, and, clutching the bloody handkerchief which Will
had dropped, tried to wave it above me and cheer.

As I did so, the blood gushed over my bosom—a cloud passed
before my eyes, and, falling heavily back, I lost consciousness.

That is all I remember, my dear reader, of this famous battle.