We were now far ahead of the army's vanguard.
Cols. Davies and Kilpatrick, of the Harris light cavalry, had indeed assured us of their last night's presence at Manassas Junction, and of the departure of the last of the rebels.
So excitement and curiosity got the better of caution, and we pushed forward to the Stone Bridge, intending to go as nearly as possible over the path of the never-forgotten contest — though not having time to follow the extreme flank movement executed by Hunter's column as the chief portion of that day's drama.
Well, the battle-field was before us and around us; less changed in the appearance of its thousand blood-enriched acres than any portion of the day's previous journey.
There were the same hills, the same valley, the same lowering and murderous forests, the same blue sky and gleaming sun. Absent the din of battle, the big-voiced cannon, the victory, the repulse, the terrifie riot and murder.
Slowly and sadly we passed by the deep gorge w