Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 2.
Frank Moore, Ed.

Incidents of the retreat after the panic was stopped.

* * we were comforting ourselves with “an old oaken bucket which hung by a well” near the fence: the rather cross-looking Virginian occupant of the house eyeing us not quite amiably from his passive position on the door-step, when some of the straggling soldiers, who had eluded the Jerseymen probably by leaping the fences, began to show themselves. Many of them were sound in body, but apparently fagged out. Most of them were wholly unarmed; some in shirt-sleeves, and without coats or hats. Many were more or less wounded: one hit on the forehead, another in the neck, another in the leg, (none badly wounded could have limped so far on foot,) and a few were from the hospital, sick and hardly able to stand up. The first word of all of them was: “Water! Is there any water here?” They all said they had eaten nothing since yesterday, nor tasted a drop of liquid, save only the muddy water of puddles by the road-side; yet they had been all day long in the hardest of the fight. Doubtful this, perhaps, in some cases, but probably true of the Ellsworth Zouaves, of whom about a dozen were visible, all apparently worn out with work of the hardest kind. (No other New York men were seen by us during the night.) Their stories of charges in the “imminent deadly breach” of masked batteries, would have been less credible if they had not been individual, just from the field, and with no chance for mutual buncombe. “We've lost half our men,” more than one of them said, perhaps honestly; but the sequel was “not so:” perhaps one hundred were left behind. “We've been badly cut up,” said one from another quarter; “the New York 71st are half cut to pieces;” and so they talked, one after the other. Revived with a long tug at our nectar and ambrosia in the old bucket, which was vigorously rolled up and down on its iron chain, they rested, washed, breathed long and well, and trudged on toward Fairfax. One poor fellow, a slender youth of eighteen, too tender altogether for a working army, panted up to the well and seemed too weak to hold himself up. “I was sick in the hospital,” said he; “they fired into it and killed several there, and I had to run as well as I could.” I omitted to take his name, poor fellow; it would be comfortable to know he reached home. So we pulled the bucket up and down, thankful that in this easy way we could give aid and comfort to these panting, thirsty, fagged defenders of their country's flag, and never doubting they had honestly done their best.

Meanwhile, an army-wagon had been standing since we first met the panic in the same spot before this house. I note this particular wagon, lettered “Co. H, 3d Regt., Me.,” because it is noteworthy that it stood in line in one place all these two hours; and the driver said, in answer to my question, that he “should move on as soon as he had orders.” As this is the regiment of Col. Howard, of West-Point, whom I (as one of those “reception committees” ) had learned to respect and admire in New York, I talked with the teamster about the doings of the day and of the Colonel, who was reported killed. During the brief panic, he had, like his neighbors, thrown overboard all his cargo, except five bags of oats. So, on these bags we persuaded him to spread six of the wounded soldiers, to be jolted over the road, in the absence of ambulances, which at this place at least were invisible. When he finally started homeward, with the rest of the teams, about seven, or near sunset, the line having been ordered to “move on,” there was still room for us in a corner; but soon other wounded soldiers were over-taken, and we boosted them into our places and look to our feet. During the few minutes we were in the wagon a new panic was raised. The stragglers in the road suddenly scampered over the fences to the woods, and the teamsters whipped their horses into a furious run for some five minutes, the dust flying so thickly that we could scarcely see each other. The first idea naturally pointed to the Black Horse Cavalry, who must be cutting us off! It was now nearly dark. The two muskets still left among our six wounded companions were quickly in rest for a shot at the enemy; but a moment more disclosed a couple of platoons ahead, stopping every thing on the road. These quickly proved to be a detachment of our Michigan 4th from Fairfax Court House, sent forward to head off all sound-bodied fugitives and send them back to their regiments: hence the scamper over the fences. Only by this manoeuvre could any soldiers pass the two reserves and reach the Potomac. On the road every man was stopped and turned back, excepting the wounded and the teamsters with their wagons. As to the civilians, they had long ago disappeared on the safe side; we saw but one beside ourselves after sunset, until we reached the pickets near the Court House, about nine o'clock P. M. Here again, returning soldiers were still stopped and turned back at this time, and as late, certainly, as ten o'clock, or six hours after the retreat began. Could a couple of platoons turn back a whole army? The wagons rolled slowly into the village, and for an hour, or more, I noticed the team of our friend of “Co. H, 3d Regt., Me.,” being in its place in the line, still standing quietly opposite the Court House.

The contents of my friend's haversack had been [21] nearly exhausted, in bits given to the hungry men from the battle; so we thought a little supper would not be amiss. The tavern, an average specimen of a fifth-rate village-inn, yet claiming a higher grade, probably, as the hostelry of the County Court, stands right opposite the Court House, on the main road to Washington. The teatable was still uncleared, and cold meat yet remained for the wayfarer; so we took seats without question, and a couple of colored servants presently brought us some fresh tea and coffee — such as they were — and even took pains to bake us a warm blackberry-cake. (These trivialities are only recorded as obvious indications of a deliberate state of things, rather than of a race from an enemy.) While we sipped our tea, a stranger joined us, saying calmly, by way of introduction: “My son has been wounded in the battle; I've just brought him here — wish I could get him something that would taste like tea.” We left him, sending an earnest message to the landlady: “Would pay any thing she pleased.” A youth of twenty, civil and gentlemanly in manner, here appeared to represent the house.

“How much is our supper, sir?”

“Twenty-five cents each.”

This moderate demand thankfully paid, I remarked: “Probably you have no beds to give us?”

“Yes, sir, I think I have.”

We could scarcely expect this comfort, for the house is small, and strangers rather abounded just now.

“Thank you; we'll look about a little. Pray keep the room for us.”

Among the groups of talkers about the door, we noticed a decisive and emphatic-looking gentleman who was addressed by another as Senator Wade. He was reviewing sone of the day's incidents, and I afterward learned he had, with his friends, done excellent service in stopping part of the panic and stampede. Civilians were not all useless. The Senator seemed to be intending a return to Centreville next morning; and meanwhile proposed to his friends to rest comfortably in their carriage. This was about eleven o'clock; wagons still at rest; as many soldiers about the place as I had seen at noon, but here and there a poor fellow would come in from battle-ward inquiring for the hospital. Every thing warranted an off-hand verification of my first impression — that is, that the army had rested and would stay at Centreville, and the wagons and stragglers would stay here. Even this scarcely seemed worth asking: we didn't imagine any thing else.

About eleven o'clock our civil young host politely lighted us to a very good room, in which was a nice double-bed and a single cot.

“We shall leave early; we'll pay for the room now, if you please. How much?”

“Twenty-five cents each. But I may have to disturb you, gentlemen, to put some one in that other bed, for you see we are cramped for room.”

“ Certainly; we hardly expected a bed ourselves. We'll lock the door, but any one you send shall be admitted.”

“Good-night, gentlemen.”

“Good-night, sir.”

Much less courteous hosts are to be found in our own Yankee laud. By the way, the urgent message of the father of the wounded soldier had finally produced the landlady, a tall, straight specimen of a Virginia dame, lofty-capped, stately, and somewhat cross; and I couldn't blame her, under the circumstances. I hope she produced her best Oolong, if not her Gunpowder.

We undressed, and were soon comfortably stowed in the ample large bed, not omitting our thanks to God for our preservation, yet not very deeply impressed with a sense of escaping any peculiar danger. As we lay talking of the day's events, the expected knock came, and our young host introduced an officer in uniform to occupy the other bed. He proved to be a Pennsylvanian, who had been only a spectator in the conflict. He told us of the death of Col. Cameron, and of several incidents of the day. We talked to each other across the room for some twenty minutes, and then “tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” overtook us all. At any rate, when I rose at half-past 1, both my companion and the officer were as “sound as a top.” I had for an hour noticed confused talking of soldiers under our open window, and more arrivals seemed apparent; but the only order I heard was: “Second Wisconsin, fall in!”

“T----,” said I, “I think you'd better wake up. It's a moonlight night, and walking will be more comfortable than in the day-time; beside, I want to reach Washington early, and we can catch the seven o'clock boat from Alexandria.”

Rather reluctantly (for he was very tired) my friend got up: and we were comfortably dressed and in the road between two and three o'clock. Our room-mate from the Keystone State we left sound asleep, for we had no authority to disturb him. If “this meets his eye,” will he send a word to say whether he woke up in Richmond?

The night was pleasantly cool; and clouds and road lighted up by a full moon. Road fair but sandy. The wagons were plodding on in continuous line; but that they were not much hurried or disordered, is evident from our soon overtaking our old friend of “Co. H, 3d Regt., me.” The road was about as sparingly sprinkled with stray soldiers as it was the other side of Fairfax, and in all we probably saw five hundred, not more, between the first panic in the road, and Alexandria. Many of these were lying in groups, asleep, by the roadside. Frequently, two would be together on a heavy wagon-horse without saddle; several, slightly disabled, had climbed into the wagons. Two poor fellows I noticed together on a tired horse, looking the very picture of exhaustion. The expression on the face of one of them I cannot forget: he looked sick, and his eyes rolled in a despairing manner. I tried to cheer him, saying he would soon be in Alexandria, well cared for. He could only answer by what seemed a thankful smile. T----and I tried to talk to as many different soldiers as we could reach, and to learn all they had to say. Their stories of the barbarities of the rebels to the wounded were too many and too varied to leave any doubt that “No quarter” was the watchword of at least a portion of the rebel army. I might repeat a dozen of these sad incidents, showing how disabled and wounded men were butchered; but the theme is sickening. For the sake of humanity, of common decency, let us hope. that this barbarity was limited and local, and was condemned by the commanders. We since know, that after the battle they did take care of our wounded, and treat them well: let all justice be done. [22]

Almost every man we tallied with belonged to a different regiment from the last. They were chiefly from Rhode Island, Connecticut, Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin--I did not see any soldiers from Maine--New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, or Pennsylvania; but of course I speak only of our part of the road. Their accounts seemed to harmonize, especially in two points, namely, that our men held their ground sturdily until three o'clock; and whenever they came in actual contact with the rebels, they drove them back; and secondly, that many of our officers were grossly inefficient, and some evidently showed the white feather. Orders seemed to be scarce; “the men fought on their own hook.” Several, however, spoke of the gallant young Governor Sprague, of Rhode Island, and said he behaved heroically. “It was the movement of a Rhode Island battery from the range of shells, to a new position, yet in perfect order, which started at least a part of the false panic and cry of ‘ Retreat.’ The Fire Zouaves had made some terrific charges; but as they would rush headlong on one masked battery, and capture it, they were decimated by another battery concealed in the rear. Late in the day, these sturdy fellows received a charge of the famous Black Horse Cavalry of Virginia, who were sent reeling back with half their saddles vacant. The greatest mistake on our side was want of cavalry ; the next was, making us fight on empty stomachs, tired out, and without any water to taste except mud-puddles. As it was, the rebels were beaten and were falling back, when that panic was started at the last moment.” Such, almost literally, were the words of these men from different parts of the field, and before they could have compared notes among themselves. Toward daybreak, we came up with a drove of forty cattle, belonging to the army, which had been driven back with the returning wagons all the way; and we took some extra exercise, chasing a bullock or two, straying off into the woods. I think we saved our Uncle Samuel one stout animal, and fairly earned a beefsteak, which is hereby freely waived in behalf of privates A and B, who are probably as hungry as we. As day dawned, we caine up with a female equestrian, probably a nurse, who walked her horse leisurely by the wagons. Soon we observed camps near the road, over which waved the Stars and Stripes; the ramparts of Fort Ellsworth on a hill commanding the road into Alexandria, were occupied by men, busy apparently in placing their guns in range; and at the outer picket near the town, another platoon from the garrison were “arguing the point” with fugitive soldiers who were asking admittance. Even at this time only the wagons and the disabled men seemed to be allowed to pass: able-bodied soldiers were very properly stopped outside. Our pass was promptly honored as usual. At the first chance for a cup of coffee — a decent negro family in a barnish-looking house, where cakes were spread to tempt stray pennies from soldier-boys and others — we had a nice hot breakfast, without a single allusion to the event of the day. As we walked down the long dull streets of Alexandria, still almost vacant and cheerless, we began to see the people, male and female, looking out with expressions, as I imagined, of no very great grief at the news of the morning. Probably they had heard the worst story of the loyal side; and not a few appeared to be actually rejoicing. As we passed a group of four, a man, of some position apparently, was saying: “Has the world ever seen a worse whipping!” Pleasant, this. Their preferences, at least, were not very doubtful. Strangely deluded people! * * * * Rain commenced just as we reached the seven o'clock (the first) boat for Washington. So we were not only among the last from the regulated panic, but were with the first soldiers who reached Washington by this route. (The Arlington and Long Bridge road diverges some miles from Alexandria. Of the current that way — this side of Fairfax — we could not testify; but this is the nearest way.)

We had thus walked between thirty-five and forty miles in the course of twenty-one hours; and Mr. T----seemed to feel so. In the boat I conversed with a New York gentleman and his wife, who had been on the field near the battle, all day. His later expectations were connected with an involuntary trip to Richmond; but Madame didn't feel the least apprehension. Is female courage founded most on calm wisdom and steady nerve, or on a more limited appreciation of all the points of “the situation” ? Shall we say, “Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise” ?

Two omnibuses at the Washington dock were quickly filled with fugitive soldiers from the boat, some of them slightly disabled. On the top of one of them we rumbled up the avenue, and were soon enveloped in the eager circles at Willard's on that dismal morning; for a steady rain, as well as the news, was dampening the ardor of the excited people. The early stampeders had made the most of their sudden flight, and exaggerating tale-bearers and worse rumor-mongers had done their utmost. Here an idea that had more than once been suggested by what I had heard and seen, was greatly strengthened; namely, that the panic had been deliberately started, or at least accelerated by secessionists on the ground, among the Washington visitors. This may be wholly absurd and untrue; but how easily such a thing could have been done!

My loyal Washington friend's suggestion of the good moral effect which our Seventh Regiment would produce by their return to the capital while people's minds were thus disturbed, was duly noted. As the cars were to leave at two, and our flags now waved over both wings of the noble Capitol, I had the curiosity to “take a turn” in the Senate, where gallant Audy Johnson had promised to speak on the bill approving the doings of the President. About thirty Senators were present, looking as calm as if the battle of New Orleans had been the last on the continent. The scene here was a notable afterpiece to the drama of yesterday.

Breckinridge sat at his desk, reading in a morning paper the news of our disaster. Could one mistake which was lie? or misinterpret his expression of entire satisfaction with what he is reading? Is he naturally so cool and so dignified, and self-complacent, or does he affect a calmness and assume a virtue, though he has it not? Is he disloyal or really patriotic under difficulties?

What, of all things on this day, is under discussion? The Bill forbidding the return of fugitive slaves by our troops to disloyal owners.

“What!” said Senator Wilson; “shall we take these men who have been used to dig intrenchments. for masked batteries, behind which their traitorous masters are posted to murder our true loyal defenders — shall we force these poor men back to those traitorous masters, to be used behind [23] other batteries for mowing down the soldiers of the Union?”

The tone of the question was slightly warmed, I imagine, by what the Senator had seen at Bull Run. Allusion was made to the “Senator from Kentucky,” who had demanded the yeas and nays, and a small shot was fired toward him.

“Mr. President,” said the ex-leader and candidate, rising with great assumption of calm dignity, “the Senator from Massachusetts will of course do his duty as he understands it. I, sir, as a Senator from Kentucky, shall endeavor to do mine.” [Resumes his seat and the newspaper, which he turns over somewhat conspicuously toward “the gentleman on the other side of the house.” ] Pearce speaks, half-way, for Maryland. Mr. Clerk Forney presently calls the vote; Trumball, Sumner, Wilson, and others, responding an emphatic “Ay;” and the chairman remarks that “the bill is passed” --six Senators voting “No.”

Mr. Tennessee Johnston then postponing his speech, we looked into the House, found the seats as full as usual, and business proceeding; and so we adjourned to the cars, and soon whirled by our pickets, and passed the famous “Junction,” and the Relay House, and Federal Hill, and noted Pratt street; had a glimpse of Fort McHenry, (we had been told that the retreat would make a rise of a troublous tide in this region, but didn't see it,) and at half-past 10 were fairly pressed. into the densest of excited crowds at the Philadelphia “Continental.” “Is it true that we have twelve thousand killed, and our army all gone?” etc. etc.

* * * * * * * * *

Next morning I was rather hoarse — but I felt the pulse of a splendid regiment in Chestnut street, bound for the cars as early as five A. M., and found that they wern't frightened, but rather the reverse.

Coolly recalling all that I had witnessed, and much that I learned from original witnesses on the spot, just from the field, I think we may safely conclude thus much, namely:--

1. That we had been beaten.

2. That the battle should not have been fought on that day ; not only because it was the Sabbath, but because, after a day's rest, with reconnoitring and good meals, the enemy might have been scorched out of his den of batteries, and then whipped easily.

3. That our men showed pluck and fortitude, and stood their ground at great disadvantage.

4. That many of our officers were only so-so, and some were among the missing.

5. That the rebel force on the field was much the largest, and was repeatedly relieved by fresh regiments from their reserves.

6. That in the open field they were invariably driven back; their concealed batteries and their cavalry were their chief reliance, and chief success.

7. That their troops, at least a portion of them, butchered our wounded men, and gave no quarter; but that after the battle our wounded were well treated.

8. That the panic was a groundless one, caused by misapprehension, or possibly by design of traitors among the spectators; that it was soon stopped, although too late to save the day; that our main army remained together, and in comparative good order.

9. That part of the rebels were themselves retreating at that same moment; and that the rest did not leave their intrenchments toward our forces, during that night.

10. That panics and false reports are “as easy as lying.” --G. P. Putnam, in Knickerbocker Magazine.