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Bull Run, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
them; and the enemy had disappeared, thundering with their artillery to cover their retreat. The rest of the work must be done by the cavalry; and to the work in question the great cavalier Stuart addressed himself with the energy, dash, and vigour of his character. The scene, as we went on, was curious. Pushing across the battle-field-we had slept at Fairview, the Conrad House on the maps-we saw upon every side the reeking traces of the bloody conflict; and as the column went on across Bull Run, following the enemy on their main line of retreat over the road from Stonebridge to Centreville, the evidences of demoralization and defeat crowded still more vividly upon the eye. Guns, haversacks, oil-cloths, knapsacks, abandoned cannon and broken-down wagons and ambulances,--all the debris of an army, defeated and hastening to find shelter behind its worksattracted the attention now, as in July, 1861, when the first On to Richmond was so unfortunate. Prisoners were picked up on all sid
West Virginia (West Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
to my little incident. I was sitting on my horse near General Stuart, who had put in the skirmishers, and was now superintending the fire of his artillery, when a cavalry-man rode up and reported that they had just captured a deserter. Where is he? was Stuart's brief interrogatory. Coming yonder, General. How do you know he is a deserter? One of my company knew him when he joined our army. Where is he from? county. And the man mentioned the name of a county of Western Virginia. What is his name? M— . (I suppress the full name. Some mother's or sister's heart might be wounded.) Bring him up, said Stuart coldly, with a lowering glance from the blue eyes under the brown hat and black feather. As he spoke, two or three mounted men rode up with the prisoner. I can see him at this moment with the mind's eye, as I saw him then with the material eye. He was a young man, apparently eighteen or nineteen years of age, and wore the blue uniform, tippe
Richmond (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
ns, haversacks, oil-cloths, knapsacks, abandoned cannon and broken-down wagons and ambulances,--all the debris of an army, defeated and hastening to find shelter behind its worksattracted the attention now, as in July, 1861, when the first On to Richmond was so unfortunate. Prisoners were picked up on all sides as the cavalry pushed on; their horses, if they were mounted, were taken possession of; their sabres, guns, and pistols appropriated with the ease and rapidity of long practice; and the than that which passed over the face of the boy-deserter, as he thus heard his sentence. He had evidently regarded himself as a mere prisoner of war; and now he was condemned to death! He had looked forward, doubtless, to mere imprisonment at Richmond until regularly exchanged, when hang him on that tree! burst upon his ears like the voice of some avenging Nemesis. Terrible, piteous, sickening, was the expression of the boy's face. He seemed to feel already the rope around his neck; he
Cub Run, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
n house used as a temporary hospital. It was full of dead and wounded; and I remember that the Hospital steward who attended the Federal wounded was an imposing personage. Portly, bland, dignified, elegantly dressed, he was as splendid as a major-general; nay, far more so than any gray major-general of the present writer's acquaintance. Our tall and finely-clad friend yielded up his surplus ambulances with graceful ease, asked for further orders; and when soon his own friends from across Cub Run began to shell the place, philosophically took his stand behind the frail mansion and awaited further developments with the air of a man who was resigned to the fortunes of war. Philosophic steward of the portly person! if you see this page it will bring back to you that lively scene when the present writer conversed with you and found you so composed and equal to the occasion, even amid the shell and bullets! But I am expending too much attention upon my friend the surgeon, who held t
Virginia (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
ould be guilty; and his course was plain-his resolution immovable. What is your name? said the General coldly, with a lowering brow. M— , sir, was the response, in a mild and pleasing voice, in which it was impossible to discern the least trace of emotion. Where are you from? I belonged to the battery that was firing at you, over yonder, sir. The voice had not changed. A calmer tone I never heard. Where were you born? continued Stuart, as coldly as before. In--, Virginia, sir. Did you belong to the Southern army at any time? Yes, sir. The coolness of the speaker was incredible. Stuart could only look at him for a moment in silence, so astonishing was this equanimity at a time when his life and death were in the balance. Not a tone of the voice, a movement of the muscles, or a tremor of the lip indicated consciousness of his danger. The eye never quailed, the colour in his cheek never faded. The prisoner acknowledged that he was a deserter from
Maryland (Maryland, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
already the rope around his neck; he choked; when he spoke his voice sounded like the death-rattle. An instant of horror-struck silence; a gasp or two as if the words were trying to force their way against some obstacle in his throat; then the sound came. His tones were not loud, impassioned, energetic, not even animated. A sick terror seemed to have frozen him; when he spoke it was in a sort of moan. I didn't know, he muttered in low, husky tones. I never meant-when I went over to Maryland--to fight against the South. They made me; I had nothing to eat — I told them I was a Southerner-and so help me God I never fired a shot. I was with the wagons. Oh! General, spare me; I never- There the voice died out; and as pale as a corpse, trembling in every limb — a spectacle of helpless terror which no words can describe, the boy awaited his doom. Stuart had listened in silence, his gaze riveted upon the speaker; his hand grasping his heavy beard; motionless amid the shell
Centreville (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
irring than his own. It was on the morning of August 3 I, 1862, on the Warrenton road, in a little skirt of pines, near Cub Run bridge, between Manassas and Centreville. General Pope, who previously had only seen the backs of his enemies, had been cut to pieces. The battle-ground which had witnessed the defeat of Scott and Mcg traces of the bloody conflict; and as the column went on across Bull Run, following the enemy on their main line of retreat over the road from Stonebridge to Centreville, the evidences of demoralization and defeat crowded still more vividly upon the eye. Guns, haversacks, oil-cloths, knapsacks, abandoned cannon and broken-down w such philosophic coolness. The cavalry, headed by General Stuart, pushed on, and we were now nearly at Cub Run bridge. The main body of the enemy had reached Centreville during the preceding night, and we could see their white tents in the distance; but a strong rearguard of cavalry and artillery had been left near the bridge, a
Manassas, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
ted in a vision of sudden death which I myself once saw in a human eye. On the occasion in question, a young, weak-minded, and timid person was instantaneously confronted, without premonition or suspicion of his danger, with the abrupt prospect of an ignominious death; and I think the great English writer would have considered my incident more stirring than his own. It was on the morning of August 3 I, 1862, on the Warrenton road, in a little skirt of pines, near Cub Run bridge, between Manassas and Centreville. General Pope, who previously had only seen the backs of his enemies, had been cut to pieces. The battle-ground which had witnessed the defeat of Scott and McDowell on the 21St of July, 1861, had now again been swept by the bloody besom of war; and the Federal forces were once more in full retreat upon Washington. The infantry of the Southern army were starved, broken down, utterly exhausted, when they went into that battle, but they carried everything before them; and th
Fairview, Ill. (Illinois, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
try of the Southern army were starved, broken down, utterly exhausted, when they went into that battle, but they carried everything before them; and the enemy had disappeared, thundering with their artillery to cover their retreat. The rest of the work must be done by the cavalry; and to the work in question the great cavalier Stuart addressed himself with the energy, dash, and vigour of his character. The scene, as we went on, was curious. Pushing across the battle-field-we had slept at Fairview, the Conrad House on the maps-we saw upon every side the reeking traces of the bloody conflict; and as the column went on across Bull Run, following the enemy on their main line of retreat over the road from Stonebridge to Centreville, the evidences of demoralization and defeat crowded still more vividly upon the eye. Guns, haversacks, oil-cloths, knapsacks, abandoned cannon and broken-down wagons and ambulances,--all the debris of an army, defeated and hastening to find shelter behind its
Warrenton (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2.19
parison will prove dangerous; but a reader here and there may be interested in a vision of sudden death which I myself once saw in a human eye. On the occasion in question, a young, weak-minded, and timid person was instantaneously confronted, without premonition or suspicion of his danger, with the abrupt prospect of an ignominious death; and I think the great English writer would have considered my incident more stirring than his own. It was on the morning of August 3 I, 1862, on the Warrenton road, in a little skirt of pines, near Cub Run bridge, between Manassas and Centreville. General Pope, who previously had only seen the backs of his enemies, had been cut to pieces. The battle-ground which had witnessed the defeat of Scott and McDowell on the 21St of July, 1861, had now again been swept by the bloody besom of war; and the Federal forces were once more in full retreat upon Washington. The infantry of the Southern army were starved, broken down, utterly exhausted, when th
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