Antebellum BK 1

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  The command was echoed along the column.

  “Double-time – March.”

  The sound of tramping feet and excited chatter accompanied a rising cloud of dust. Quincy ran his horse toward the front of the column, but didn’t sheath his sword.

  Stragglers and wounded from Richardson’s brigade were already coming up the grade. The number of dead and badly wounded was having a sobering effect on the men. The chatter and shouts of bravado stopped.

  “Sergeant, gather up those walking wounded to help the others,” Quincy shouted at some stragglers as he rode by.

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant called after him.

  When Quincy caught up with the front of the column, Sherman didn’t acknowledge him but instead kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, as if he could somehow see through the trees. “The brigade is on the march, sir,” Quincy reported.

  “Very well.” Sherman was still watching the road.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  That got Sherman’s attention, but only for a second. “Yes.”

  Quincy turned in his saddle and signaled the 13th New York to pick up their pace.

  The road became steep and the trees thinner before the battlefield came into view. Quincy shaded his eyes from the sun and saw General Tyler in the thick of a battle near the ford. “He seems to be ordering a retreat,” Quincy said in surprise, after watching Tyler’s frantic signals.

  Sherman suddenly reined in his horse without warning or issuing a command to halt. The color guard stopped abruptly. The first rank of the 13th New York stopped to avoid walking over the color guard. The second rank stumbled into the first rank, causing a chain reaction and a fair amount of cursing.

  “Go down there and see if he still wants us,” Sherman said to Quincy.

  “Yes, sir.” Quincy guided his horse carefully along a ragged line of Union soldiers who were cowering behind a wooden fence, then he rode into the open toward a broken fence section. The sound of cannon and musket fire was muffled here, but the smoke was thick and the cries of the wounded and shouted commands from officers and NCOs seemed to come from all directions.

  Just beyond the fence, Richardson’s color bearer was struck in the chest by a cannon ball. Quincy quickly looked away from the smoking heap of flesh and blood, then crossed the downed fence and spurred his horse to catch up with Tyler. “General Tyler, sir,” he shouted.

  Tyler reined in his horse and looked across Bull Run, without answering Quincy.

  “General Tyler,” Quincy repeated.

  “What is it?” Tyler was watching a large number of rebel troops who had moved down into covered positions.

  “Colonel Sherman’s brigade is at the tree line, sir,” Quincy said. “We’re awaiting your orders,” he added when Tyler didn’t respond.

  “Withdraw,” Tyler said without looking away from the field. “We’re being cut to pieces here.”

  The Confederate gunners had now seen Sherman’s column and they elevated their guns to begin pouring concentrated fire onto the road.

  Quincy waved his hat at Sherman and signaled him to turn back.

  The 13th New York, at the front of Sherman’s column, saw Quincy’s signal and, without orders, turned an about-face where they stood and began pushing until the entire column was running in panic back toward the camp at Centreville.

  ~

  Jeb Stuart handed his binoculars to Johnny Van Buskirk. “They’re running away without firing a shot. We could take Washington all by ourselves.”

  “Today would be the day to do it,” Johnny replied, “but all I hear from the generals is a lot of talk about defending Richmond. It’s like two small boys brought to the brink of a fight, but afraid to get hurt and circling each other while exchanging feints and insults.”

  “Cannon fire is particularly insulting.” Stuart said wryly. “I’ve never seen a man hit by a cannon ball before, but I’ve seen three men struck today. Each incident was more shocking than the previous. I can’t honestly blame those Yankees for running from it.”

  “We were just lucky that the Yankee artillery decided to advance to the level ground along Bull Run where they couldn’t elevate their guns to engage us. Had they chosen higher ground, a number of us would now be stains upon the local flora.”

  “I fear they’ve learned their lesson today. The next time they’ll be shooting down our throats.”

  “This isn’t as much fun as I’d anticipated.”

  ~

  Helplessly, Sherman followed his panicked troops, but the road was so clogged by fleeing soldiers that, short of riding down the men at the rear, he could not reach the front rank to stop their flight. While he rode, he catalogued all the mistakes he’d made. By the time he reached the camp, William Tecumseh Sherman was having serious self-doubts.

  Quincy watched a distant skirmish for a few minutes, then picked his way through the wounded, the dead, the craters and the shell fragments to make his way back to Centreville. When he arrived, Sherman had the brigade in formation and was haranguing them for their cowardice. Quincy stayed near the road in anticipation of new orders from Tyler and closed his eyes to wait.

  During his numerous encounters with hostile Indians as a boy in Texas, he’d found waiting to be the most difficult. Over time, he’d learned to doze while keeping his ears attuned for potential threats. In his brief exposure to combat today, he’d discovered that only the cannons made it any different than Indian fighting. He hunkered down in his saddle and was soon asleep.

  July 22, 1861

  Centreville, Virginia

  At 2:30 AM, Sherman’s brigade fell in with the General Tyler’s column and marched from Centreville to the stone bridge that crossed Bull Run. Sherman deployed his troops at the edge of woods, on the right of the Warrenton road, and established his headquarters in a clearing among several large boulders.

  Across the creek, the Confederate forces seemed to take no notice of the new arrivals until about 10:00 AM when a regiment-sized unit of Rebel infantry left their covered position and moved onto the road toward Sudley Springs.

  “They must be reacting to Colonels Hunter and Heintzelman’s advance,” Quincy said.

  Sherman dismounted. “Things are about to warm up.” He moved forward to kneel behind a boulder, pointed at a large concentration of Confederate troops that was approaching the stone bridge from the other side of Bull Run, and signaled a messenger. “My compliments to Captain Ayers. He is to engage those enemy troops to our front with all his guns.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man vanished into the timber.

  Minutes later the sound of cannon fire shattered the morning and sent flocks of birds to flight.

  “Short,” Sherman grumbled as Ayer’s rounds impacted well in front of the Confederates. “Short again. And again. What’s the matter with our gunners?”

  “It’s not the gunners, sir,” Quincy replied, “it’s the guns. General Tyler detached Ayers’s two rifled cannons to Captain Carlisle’s battery. All Ayers has left are his smooth bores. They don’t have the range.”

  “Blast.” Sherman looked around. “Messenger?”

  “Sir.”

  “My compliments to General Tyler. We urgently request the return of the thirty-pounder rifled guns that were attached to Captain Carlisle’s battery from the battery of Captain Ayers.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man hurried away.

  “Messenger?”

  “Sir,” another aide replied.

  “My compliments to Colonel Corcoran. He is to shift his position to the extreme right of our brigade and protect our flank.”

  “Yes, sir.” The aide moved off into the timber.

  “Blast.” Sherman looked around. “No more messengers.”

  “I can take it, sir,” Quincy said.

  “Very well. Tell Ayers to cease fire. He’s wasting ammunition.”

  “Yes, sir.” Quincy swung onto his horse and started toward the battery, but just then, the cannon fire stopped abruptly. Quincy reined
in, looked toward the bridge, then dismounted and came back to kneel beside Sherman. “Colonel Hunter’s advancing.” He pointed. “Ayers’s batteries have ceased fire to avoid injuring Hunter’s brigade.”

  “Go tell Tyler we’re waiting for him to make up his mind,”

  Quincy gave him a look. “That would be insubordinate. He’ll shoot me if I do.”

  “Well tell him in some other way.”

  “I think he’ll send an order when he wants us, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, never mind. But stay off your damned horse. You make too good a target up there.”

  Colonel Hunter’s column was advancing against heavy small arms fire, but began to bog down as more and more rebel artillery was brought to bear on them.

  Finally, after nearly an hour of heavy fighting, it became obvious that the Confederates were making a solid stand and picking Hunter’s brigade to pieces.

  “I don’t care if Tyler does shoot you,” Sherman said at last. “Go request permission to attack.”

  “He’s going to ask me how you plan to do that with the bridge completely blocked, sir.”

  “Earlier, I saw a rebel cavalryman cross the stream about there.” He pointed. “I’ll send a company of skirmishers to see how wide the ford is and to probe the enemy. Then I’ll follow the skirmishers with the whole brigade behind the New York Sixty-ninth.”

  Quincy mounted and rode off through the trees.

  ~

  Nearly two hours later, Quincy stumbled through the undergrowth and sat down beside Sherman who was still crouched behind the boulders.

  “What took you so damned long?” Sherman demanded.

  Quincy ignored the question. “General Tyler says go.”

  “Where’s your horse?”

  “Shot.”

  “Are you wounded?”

  “Not badly enough to need attention.”

  “No remounts?”

  “No, sir. Half the officers up there are on foot. Start the attack. I’ll walk with the Sixty-ninth.”

  “Very well.” Sherman mounted his horse and waved his arm above his head. “Skirmishers advance.”

  The brigade had little difficulty crossing Bull Run and met no opposition climbing the steep bluff, but Sherman decided that the grade was impossible for the artillery and he sent word back to Captain Ayres to remain with the rest of the division on the Washington side of Bull Run.

  Quincy advanced on foot with the 69th, keeping up with Lieutenant Colonel Haggerty, until they came upon a small unit of Confederate infantry. Haggerty, in an attempt to cut off the rebels’ retreat, rode out alone and was shot from his horse by a Confederate sharpshooter. He hit the ground dead.

  Quincy was able to capture Haggerty’s horse while Haggerty’s enraged men raced after the Southern forces, firing wildly.

  Sherman heard the commotion, broke away from the main body and raced onto the field calling for a cease fire. When he had the soldiers halted, he ordered them to close with Colonel Hunter’s division.

  Quincy rode ahead of Sherman to alert Hunter of their location, but when he asked Colonel Fitz John Porter where he could find Hunter, Porter informed him that Hunter, and several of his officers, were wounded and out of action. Quincy thanked him and rode forward through heavy musket fire, looking for the remnants of Hunter’s brigade. He had just topped a ridge when he saw General McDowell in a copse of trees to his left. As he turned toward the general, Quincy’s horse went down with a scream, and Quincy was tossed ignobly into the dirt for the second time in the day. Cursing, he picked himself up, made sure the horse was dead, and walked toward the general, ignoring the bullets that were snapping about his head and digging up the ground around his feet.

  “Do you have a death wish, Van Buskirk?” McDowell shouted as Quincy stepped into the relative cover of the trees.

  “No, sir.” Quincy twisted his arm around to look at a small bullet wound. “I can’t find Colonel Hunter’s brigade. We were to join them.”

  “Forget that,” McDowell said. “Tell Sherman to pursue the enemy on the Sudley Springs road.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Oh. And tell Sherman well done. His surprise attack across that ford was what set the rebels to running.”

  Quincy saluted and started back across the open field.

  “Van Buskirk,” McDowell shouted. “Take cover please.”

  Quincy stopped and looked around. “Where would you suggest, sir?”

  McDowell waved him on. “Never mind. Go. Just go.”

  ~

  “You’ve been hit,” Sherman said.

  “Several times, but they’re only scratches,” Quincy replied.

  “Didn’t your father ever teach you to duck?”

  “No, sir. My father and uncles are of the opinion that officers should remain disdainful of enemy fire in order to serve as inspiration to the men.”

  “Yeah, I was told the same thing, but I always thought it was a load of hogwash. Any orders from McDowell?”

  Quincy pointed. “The enemy is falling back to the left of the road to Sudley Springs. General McDowell wants us to pursue.”

  “Officer’s call,” Sherman shouted. “Someone catch one of those riderless horses for Captain Van Buskirk.”

  “And a canteen of water, if you please,” Quincy added. “Mine has a bullet hole through it.”

  Sherman gave Quincy his canteen.

  “Thank you.” Quincy sat down with his back against a shattered tree and took a long swallow.

  “How does it look from up there?”

  “Chaotic. I’m not sure which army is the most disorganized.” Quincy gave him back his canteen. “The bulk of the rebel force is falling back toward Henry House Hill. The main resistance is disorganized infantry. Stubborn farm boys with squirrel guns, hiding in the hedgerows.”

  Sherman waited until his regimental commanders had gathered, then he drew a map in the dirt. “Colonel Quinby’s rifles will be our van. Behind them, the Wisconsin Second, New York Seventy-ninth, and New York Sixty-ninth. We’ll advance downhill here, and then up to this ridge. This is where we’ll engage. Any questions?”

  “We’ll be in a crossfire,” Quinby replied. “Musket ranks on one side, cannon on the other.”

  “Did you have a question?” Sherman asked.

  Quinby shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Did someone secure a horse for my Adjutant General?” Sherman bellowed.

  “Here, sir.” A sergeant led a limping horse to the clearing behind the boulders. “He’s lost a shoe but he ain’t lame yet. Just fakin’ a bit and feelin’ sorry for his-self.”

  ~

  “What time is it?” Jeb Stuart asked.

  “Noon,” Johnny Van Buskirk replied.

  “How do you know that without looking at your watch?”

  “The sun’s straight overhead, Beauty.”

  “Where’s Jackson?” Stuart grumbled.

  “Wade Hampton said he’s coming up the backside of the hill.” Johnny pointed over his shoulder.

  Below them, a large number of Confederate soldiers were running toward them in disorganized terror. “He better get here fast or our whole blamed army’s gonna overrun him in full retreat,” Stuart said.

  Johnny mounted his horse. “Why don’t you take the regiment over the hill and find Jackson while I ride down the hill and see if I can’t stop that retreat? It looks like McDowell isn’t going to press his advantage.”

  “Not yet.” Stuart swung into his saddle and pointed to another hill about three hundred yards away. “The Yankees are moving artillery into position up there. They’ll have a lovely field of fire. Once they’ve done all the damage they can, their infantry will charge.”

  “Jackson has his own cannons,” Johnny replied, shading his eyes for a better view. “They’re smooth bores but those Yankee pieces will be in range. If he gets an artillery duel started, McDowell may stall. That gives us a chance to regain the initiative.”

  Stuart signaled the color
bearer and turned back toward the crest, leading his cavalry in a long column.

  ~

  “What’s the holdup?” Sherman shouted as he reined in beside Colonel Quinby.

  “General McDowell ordered me to hold until Ricketts and Griffin’s batteries are in place.” He pointed toward the hill.

  “The rebels aren’t going to sit on their thumbs waiting for Ricketts and Griffin,” Sherman snarled. “They’re moving their own artillery into place to rake your regiment when you break cover. We’ve lost the element of surprise. They know where you are now.”

  “What do you want me to do, sir?” Quinby replied in frustration. “The commanding general told me to hold. If you countermand his order, I’ll obey.”

  “I’m countermanding it. Go.”

  Quinby moved out smartly and met little resistance until he reached the ridge where the Confederates were partially dug in or in defiladed positions. Alerted by Quinby’s earlier movement, rebel artillery had been quickly moved into place and the regiments following Quinby were subjected to a fierce cannonade that sent them racing for the limited protection of the road.

  ~

  After a brief exchange of information with Stuart and Hampton, Jackson deployed his regiments along the crest of the hill and positioned his thirteen guns on top, with orders to engage the Union artillery on the next hill. His smooth bores actually held an advantage over the Union’s rifled cannons which were sighted for a much longer range and consistently fired over the heads of the confederate gunners.

  Johnny, with help from officers of Hampton’s Legion, was able to regain order over the fleeing Virginians and formed them into a triple line to defend against the pursuing regiment of Zouaves and U.S. Marines. By the third volley the Zouaves were falling back through the Marines.

  ~

  Sherman watched as the Zouaves retreated under heavy fire, followed immediately by the Marines. “What do you think?” he asked Quincy.

  “I think we’re about to get chastised by General McDowell.” Quincy pointed toward three approaching riders.