by James Devine
The pickets were coming in now from their positions on and around the crest of Matthews Hill. That means the blue troops will be visible in no time…
He turned to his aides. “Get the men up. We’ll be moving across the road in a few minutes.” He looked at Bedford Brown, resplendent in his fine grey jacket with the gold braid. “Well Colonel. Is North Carolina ready?”
Brown, the first---and one of the few---fire-eaters to put on a uniform, nodded nervously. “North Carolina is ready, General.” I just hope to God I am.
Dominion flags were now popping up on the crest of Matthews Hill. Skirmishers were cautiously moving about. Riders followed slowly, as if on parade. Eyeballing them through his binoculars, Twiggs could see crusty old Wool among them. He identified several other officers, though not the tall powerful man on the grey horse now arriving at the head of infantry. One of their militia leaders, no doubt. Well, welcome to a real fight, Mr. Militia. Commencing in about five minutes…
The Dominion line of march offended Twiggs in every possible sense. Because the rag-tag advance was so unprofessional, it would be harder to attack: they were so spread out the key initial volley would lose much of its punch. An artillery-based ambush from the flank was supposed to turn an orderly advance into chaos. This advance is already in chaos!
The Dominion skirmishers were out in front again as they moved down the hill. They looked to be Regulars; but where were the outriders? There were none on either flank. Wool must think we’re all committed at the fords; he thinks he’s behind us! Thinks he’s going to come down this hill and get in our rear!
The clamor from the woods to the southeast went on. There must be a hell of a fight going on in there. I hope Sidney’s holding…
Twiggs could see that Wool and his staff remained on the crest of Matthews Hill, watching the ragged blue advance edge down. Must say, that’s a fine lead unit. Can’t say the same for the rest of them, though… Almost a shame to hit the lead element. Ohio, the flag says...
He lowered his binoculars and turned to an aide.
“Open fire!”
___________
Stone Bridge
11:30 a.m.:
Lt. Colonel William Savage watched in admiration as Regulars from the 2nd Infantry fought their way across the Bridge in the face of steady artillery and sporadic musket fire. The Rebels gave ground grudgingly but orderly in a way that cheered his men but gave him qualms. They’re giving up too easily. I don’t like this; it’s like they’re enticing us to come across… Now the Regulars were on the ground at the Bridge’s south end, signally its capture. Colonel Savage raised his sword and waved it over his head. There’s nothing for it now. Time to go… “Second New York! Advance!”
He led his men across in a trot, then wheeled to direct them into position. “Fan out, both sides of the road!” The Grey troops had halted and reformed. The firing was now continuous up and down the line. Savage knew Dominion troops were also advancing across the Lewis Ford; as long as the fire came straight-on---wasn’t flanking---it meant the advance was proceeding, they would be hooking up with Blue troops at the east end of the line.
Suddenly he was eating dirt; the crescendo of noise mercifully above him. One of his junior officers yelled and tugged at him. He held his breath and awaited the searing pain to inform him where he had been hit.
Nothing…
“Be careful, Colonel, that shell went off right in front of you!” I’ll be damned…still in one piece. He pulled himself up on one knee and felt hands lifting him to his feet. A grinning private handed him his sword. “Hey Colonel. Hold on to that thing, will ya? Damn near beheaded me…”
The private put his head down and rejoined the advance. Colonel Savage lowered his bulky shoulders and followed. The 2nd New York was over the Bridge and across the Run. And the Rebs were backing up. Again.
___________
Lewis Ford
11:40 a.m.:
The 1st New Jersey was now across Bull Run and forcing the Rebels back. Lt. Col. Brian Judge had led his men splashing and screaming into the water and up the south bank. Here too the Grey troops conducted an orderly, grim fighting retreat. Colonel Judge fanned his men out to the west, looking to make contact with the Dominion forces that had rushed the Stone Bridge. The 2nd Connecticut had crossed immediately after him and was now deploying to the east in order to hook up with the Blue soldiers scheduled to cross at Ball’s Ford.
Judge knew his ridiculous height made him a prime target, so he ran hunched over before picking out a thick tree for protection. He stopped to survey the situation. Can’t see ten feet in any direction with all this smoke. The Reb artillery seems to be slacking off some. Maybe it’ll clear enough to see how far these damn woods go before we hit open country. Right now, this is one screwed-up mess. One screwed-up uncoordinated mess!
___________
Field East of Henry Hill
Off Warrenton Pike
11:40 a.m.:
Albert Sidney Johnston was up in his stirrups, surveying the action up toward the Run through his binoculars. His men were conducting this ruse like veterans; all that training at Camp Washington was paying off!
The Confederate leadership had all agreed: a stalemate at the Run wasn’t good enough. They wanted to get the Blue army out into the open where it could be defeated in a head-on battle, then pushed back into the Run in a rout. That the Yankees had made the task easier by dividing their army and marching one corps miles out of the way to Sudley Springs was an unexpected bonus. But it did not change the ultimate strategy: get the Yankees out in the open by sucking them across Bull Run. Then hit them hard with the reserve and see if they break. That was to be Twiggs’ job, originally. Before the Yankees decided to split their army. Now the reserve would be the Virginians who had been guarding the eastern fords. Lee and his men. Let’s hope they arrive on the field in time!
The Blue troops in his sector were visible in the woods. Soon they’d be in the open. He sat back down, shifted in the saddle and looked west through his binoculars. Davy Twiggs has engaged on Matthews Hill. The rest of the Yankees are already in the open…
Now let’s hit them hard…all over this field. He raised himself back up in his stirrups and shook the binoculars over his head. The piercing, unearthly high-pitched growl that he had first heard from men cheering Beaufort’s cavalry as they returned from Harper’s Ferry now exploded from his own throat for the first time. What the Yankees would shudderingly come to call the “Rebel yell” now echoed across the field…
___________
North of Bull Run,
East of Stone Bridge
11:45 a.m.:
General Worth’s “use” of Captain Wilder was an order to cross the Run and report on the situation in the field. “Two-thirds of the Corps is across and they’ve not come back, Captain, which may or may not be a good sign. Get across yourself and see what the hell is happening. I’m going to hold the remaining regiments in reserve until we have a better picture of the fight.”
Tom pushed Bay Ridge across the stream and was up behind the Dominion lines in a few minutes. The Reb artillery had evidently found a more choice target---Wool?---because it had slackened off almost entirely in this sector, though he could hear the cannonading continuing further away. Since Buford’s II Corps Artillery had also ceased in order to cross the Run---Tom could see one battery setting up in a field off the Pike at the southern end of the Bridge---the smoke had begun to drift away.
Binoculars to his eyes, Tom was scanning the field when he heard his name yelled out. Soot-faced or not, there were very few 6-foot-6 regimental commanders in the USBAA. He recognized Colonel Judge.
“Thought that was you, Lieutenant. Can’t forget this horse. He’s some animal. Who invited you to this party?”
“General Worth wants to know what’s happening before he commits the remainder of the Corps, Colonel. Is it a good sign that there’re no stragglers? Or are the Rebs just chewing you up?”
“
Tell the General we’ve hooked up with the 2nd New York and the other units that crossed on the Bridge. We’re pushing them back out of the woods but I expect a resumption of their artillery fire at any time. Tell him there’s heavy fighting west of the Pike. They’ve apparently diverted the artillery fire in that direction, but for how long is anyone’s guess.
“Our objective now is that big hill out there, see it? That’s where their artillery is parked.” Judge pointed due south to a wide hill with a small stone farmhouse perched on the crest. “That hill commands the field. Take it---and their artillery---and the rebellion’s over by nightfall. Tell the General I strongly advise he commit the reserve. Now!”
Tom looked down at the sweating, dirty Judge and saluted. “Will do, Colonel.” He stuck out his hand and shook Judge’s before turning Bay Ridge around to gallop back down toward the stream. “Good luck.”
Judge stood for a moment looking after him. Luck, Captain, is the residue of design. Let’s hope our design is better than the Rebels’…
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Matthews Hill
11:50 a.m.:
“Jesus Christ! Where the fuck did they all come from?”
Lt. Joe Wilder was as amazed as the terrified private who was screaming in his ear. Ten minutes ago they were marching down the backside of still another hill after having sloshed across the stream. Then, moments ago, all hell broke loose: musket and cannon fire from the right flank, more cannon fire coming in from the front. Then a screeching, wailing sound---like all the world’s nuns running their fingernails on all the world’s blackboards---from the woods on the right. And out of those woods poured a host of men firing their muskets, then coming on as they reloaded, shining bayonets attached to the barrels.
Joe had looked for Colonel Van Dyke, but word quickly spread that the Colonel was down, shot in the first volley. Looking down the slope, Joe could see the Ohioans move smartly to their right and begin to return fire. He tried to think of the marching order for such a maneuver but couldn’t; didn’t matter, his regiment---what was left after absorbing the first volleys---was in shambles. Men were down: some bloody and moaning; some dirty and cursing from having crashed or tripped over the wounded as they tried to run back up the hill. A Vermont regiment had been right behind them in the line of march. Their discipline, too, had collapsed; some were running while others were simply hugging the ground. The ones running were now breaking up the cohesion of the battle line behind them. The formation of the Massachusetts and Connecticut regiments starting down from the crest was beginning to come apart as the fresh troops attempted to dodge both the Rebel fire and the terrified men running back up the hill.
And on the Rebels came.
“Lieutenant, form your men! Set up a line! Hook it up to Ohio!”
Joe looked up: Colonel Felton was desperately trying to improvise a counter-attack.
Another explosion from across the Pike: how many cannon do the damn Rebs have? The dirt and grass blew by in great chunks as the big man fought to retain control of his horse.
“Form a line, hook up with my boys!”
Joe looked over: damned if the Ohio troops weren’t perfectly formed up and firing back! And hitting the damn Rebs! There were men in grey and butternut down over by the road! “Look boys! They ain’t so great! Look at Ohio knock ‘em down!”
But it was no good: the Brooklyn Dutchmen and the Vermont farmers had seen enough. Enough of their friends falling, crying out. Enough of those ugly bayonets glistening in the sun. Despite little clusters around screaming, pleading officers, the regiments melted away: some uphill and some simply turning and running north toward the Run. The panic now infiltrated the lines of the other two 1st Brigade regiments, the 1st Massachusetts and the 1st Connecticut. Ignoring the pleas of the Regular non-coms staffing their ranks, these two units began to melt away. Incredibly, General Wool had committed only the lead 2nd Brigade regiment, the 1st Maryland. Its battle lines now broken by the retreat, the Marylanders swung around to face the surging Confederates as best they could. But in the maelstrom, all order was gone…
___________
It was like watching dominoes fall. This hot, humid November day on Matthews Hill, it was not the lead domino that started the chain reaction. The battle-tested 1st Ohio firmly stood its ground in the chaos. But the rest of the half-trained, undisciplined volunteers of the 1st Brigade had never come under fire before. The dominos fell at the first push of Confederate lead and steel. By the time the rest of the 2nd Brigade crested the hill turn, the Rebs were already in command of the situation.
The Confederates would misconstrue the lesson of Matthews Hill: the South Carolinians, Georgians, Alabamans, Mississippians and, yes, the Premiere Infantere Volontaires de Quebec, were not braver than their Yankee foe. Nor were they that much better trained. But they were better led and thus got in the first punch. General Wool’s arrogance and distain for the Rebels had led him into a trap of his own making. Davy Twiggs was simply smart enough to recognize its potential. And Wool’s failure to bring his big guns up to the crest of the Hill---where they could have raked the advancing Confederates and broken up their charge---sealed the issue.
Instead, Wool sat horsed on the crest amid his standard-bearers watching the carnage below in stunned silence. Col. Gilbert Hodges, the big, ranking half-pay who was serving as 2nd Brigade commander, had already asked permission to lead the remaining four regiments in the 1st Division---for only six had crested the hill (including his lead regiment, the 1st Maryland) and been engaged---down the south side of Matthews to attack the Rebels from the road. Now Hodges tried again.
“General, if I lead a charge down the hill now, it’s their flank that will be open! I can go through them like a bloody knife through hot butter! We must save the survivors of the 1st Brigade from being surrounded. Permission to charge, Sir!”
Wool shook his head. “No Colonel. I can’t risk losing the entire division. The Rebels have won the field. Colonel Felton must cut his own way out.”
The nonchalance that British officers strived to affect in crisis was apparently not in the big man’s repertoire: he pulled off his hat and slammed it against his horse’s neck. “Won the field? They bloody well haven’t won any such thing! Look towards the Stone Bridge, General…” He pointed to the southeast, where the Stars and Stripes were visibly waving from numerous stanchions. “The II Corps is advancing! General Worth is pushing them back! We haven’t even engaged our own 2nd Division! This field is still in play!”
Hodges looked around to Colonel Hitchcock, who was standing apart from Wool and his staff, watching the catastrophe unfold, his hat twisted roughly in his right hand. “Colonel Hitchcock, Sir! We must advance! It is your Division! Do you not agree?”
Hitchcock was silent, as if unhearing. It was the I Corps commander who spoke: “Colonel Hitchcock has been relieved of command, at his own request. You, Sir, are now in command of the Division.” Hodges’ jaw dropped and Wool continued:
“The II is advancing only because the Rebels are concentrating their artillery on this Corps. The day is lost, Colonel. We must retreat and then the Rebel artillery will cut the II to pieces.” Taking off his hat, he paused and continued, as if lecturing himself: “I must keep the remainder of the Corps intact to defend against what will certainly now be a Rebel attack on Georgetown.”
Hodges could barely contain his fury…or his contempt. He angrily reined his horse in a tight circle around Wool. “General, we have 14 fresh regiments and our own artillery. To retire now would be a disgrace; a bloody obscenity!”
Wool adjusted his hat. “You are relieved, Colonel.”
___________
West of Flat Run
Southeast of the Battlefield
11:30 a.m.:
Lt. Col. Robert E. Lee had pulled his 1st Virginia Infantry back from Blackburn’s Ford to a dusty road that led to this offshoot of Bull Run. There they had met up, per his hasty written order, with the 2nd and 3rd Virginias, which ha
d been posted at fords further east. Now he was hurrying the combined force across and up toward the sound of the fighting.
Robert was excited and surprised to be leading what amounted to a small brigade. His previous instructions were limited to coordination of the separate regiments’ guard duty at the various fords until the direction of the Dominion advance became clearer. This morning, however, Sidney Johnston had made it official: he was to take command and hurry the regiments to the fight…as soon as the Cavalry definitively determined the Yankees were not forcing the southeastern crossings.
He had heard the opening guns of the battle almost three hours ago and had waited impatiently for the horsemen’s report, having notified the commanders of the 2nd and 3rd of Johnston’s order. The report had come in after 10:00 a.m.: there were no Yankees east of Island Ford. Now they were headed, a color-bearer with the new CSA colors in the lead, to the fight. Colonel Lee expected to join in once the brigade crested this big, wide hill looming just northwest of Flat Run. He’d sent messengers to report to Johnston and Taylor: the Virginia Brigade would be on the field by 12:30 p.m.
___________
Confederate Field Headquarters
Henry Hill House
12:00 p.m.:
The battle was going better than he had any right to expect.
Still clad in his open neck formal ruffled shirt, USBAA enlisted men’s pants and planter’s hat, Zachary Taylor could see even without his binoculars that the Dominion advance down Matthews Hill had been broken up by Twiggs’ attack. In fact, except for a vicious brawl wrapping around a meandering little stream about a quarter mile from the Pike, there was no longer any serious immediate opposition in that sector.
