The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America

by James Devine

  “Look here, General.” Maj. Jefferson Davis offered his own glasses as he pointed up to the Matthews crest. “The Yankees appear to be abandoning the field entirely.”

  Peering through the glasses, Zach could see the color bearers beginning to move off the crest, disappearing to the west. What the hell was that all about, anyway? They didn’t have enough troops in that advance to do us any real harm, even if they had marched down and caught us in the rear. Why, there couldn’t have been more than five or six regiments in that fight…

  He turned quickly to his aide: “Get word to Joe Johnston over there. I want all firing directed at the Yankees to our north. Cease firing to the west and direct all fire north!”

  Even in the excitement of the fight, he could see Davis wince. His apparently-to-be son-in-law was furious that his old enemy from West Point now out-ranked him. And he could see that the boy was dying to get into the fight himself. Well, there’s still time. This battle isn’t over yet…

  ___________

  Ball’s Ford

  12:10 p.m.:

  The tall lanky captain was wryly thinking that he didn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the advance here was more than three hours late.

  The march down from the Warrenton Pike had been a comedy of errors. They had taken a wrong turn and actually marched more than a mile northeast before someone realized the error as the head of the column passed an unexpected junction. Instead of turning around, they simply reversed the line and headed due south for two or three more miles. That’s why his 1st Illinois was now on the point. All in the hot sun, raising clouds of dust the captain was sure could be seen in Georgetown…if not Richmond. Now they had stumbled on the ford. Or so his commander thought that’s where they were...

  According to Major Parker, two companies of Regulars were supposed to be waiting here to lead the attack, following a softening-up cannonade. But neither the Artillery nor the Regulars had ever shown up.

  Now Colonel Halas, commanding the brigade---the 2nd Pennsylvania, 1st Delaware, 1st Rhode Island and the 2nd New Jersey were the others---had apparently given up on the Regulars. His orders were to commence the advance at 12:15 p.m., with or without the Regulars.

  The captain, who had managed to get through the Black Hawk War without hearing a shot fired in anger, was reminded of a story. He was just beginning it, to the bemused exasperation of his grizzled sergeant---who believed he’d already heard all the captain’s stories at least a dozen times---when the Major shouted the order to ford the stream.

  ___________

  Matthews Hill, just

  North of the Pike

  12:15 p.m.:

  This ain’t a battle. It’s a damn riot! Got to get what’s left of my brigade out of here.

  “Retreat! Head for the Pike! Disengage!” Colonel Felton frantically---angrily---waved his bloody sword. The remnants of the 1st Ohio (and a few companies of the 1st Brooklyn) had been holding off a Rebel attack---which had gradually lost its own cohesion once it started up the side of Matthews Hill---near a stream the maps called Young’s Branch.

  Now, as the deadly cannon fire from across the Pike suddenly slackened, Colonel Felton could see blue uniforms in control of the road in front of the Stone Bridge. Don’t know---don’t care---who they are, just got to get my boys into their line. Felton could see the young officer from the 1st Brooklyn---hatless, bleeding from the forehead and arm, his right pant leg ripped open---urging the boys on. The lieutenant---young Wilder’s little brother, he remembered idlely---was one of the few officers still visibly fighting. The others weren’t all dead; some of them, he thought sourly, outran their men back up the hill…

  ___________

  Woods West of

  Sudley Springs:

  12:15 p.m.:

  Colonel Phillippe Roberdeau had seen the opportunity some two hours ago. There were no Dominion scouts or pickets west of his line! After a quick exchanges of messages with General Twiggs, he had led his Brigade, stationed at the extreme left of the CSA line, further west through the woods. Now they were hidden in dense brush just south of the field leading to the rear of Mathews Hill.

  That field was packed with lounging USBAA soldiers: some sitting, some leaning casually on their muskets. Their officers, apparently intent on escaping the blistering sun, had done a poor, almost non-existent job of posting sentries before heading for the shade of the nearest trees.

  Their flank is in the air! We can roll them up and knock these Yankees all the way back to Georgetown!

  The Colonel turned to Maj. Harry Bassett, commanding the 2nd Mississippi. Bassett had a funny accent, but the Colonel had come to respect his judgment on the journey up from the South. The English half-pay might have gotten his command because he was married to the Governor’s daughter, but he knew his business. And, the Major had risked as much, if not more, than anyone else: if the British Army got their hands on him, they wouldn’t go easy on one of their own who had thrown his lot in with the South!

  “Major, you have the honor of leading the attack with your Mississippians. When you are ready, Sir…”

  ___________

  Capt. Joseph Francis was chirping. Only this time, thought his 1st sergeant, a schoolmaster from Stowe, Vt., he’s right: shouldn’t we have some pickets out there in the woods?

  The initial volley caught half the 2nd Vermont: those leaning against their muskets. The dead, dying and wounded crashed down in heaps on their sleeping or daydreaming comrades. The 2nd Vermont disintegrated in 30 seconds; even those who chose to fight were bayoneted before they knew what had hit them.

  Messengers from General Wool ordering a pullback of the 2nd Division had barely arrived at the Division commander’s temporary headquarters when men began to stream by in a panic from the south. Roberdeau’s Brigade was rolling up Wool’s precious reserve Division as fast as the Rebels could fire; they had to reload while advancing and re-fire (a procedure that took approximately 45 seconds in practice but well over a minute under combat conditions).

  When CSA troops returned to the area the next day to scavenger for weapons, ammunition, uniforms and anything else of value, they found, nearest the woods, the bloody body of a darkly handsome Dominion captain sprawled face-up near the bulleted-and-bayoneted corpse of a blond, intelligent-looking man in his 30s who sported the insignia of a 1st sergeant.

  .

  ___________

  Edge of Field East of Henry Hill

  12:30 p.m.:

  “The attack’s stalling. We’ve got to get these men moving again!”

  Colonel Savage nodded his agreement but was at a loss as to how to proceed.

  The right (Stone Bridge) and center (Lewis Ford) prongs of General Worth’s attack had hooked up on the south side of the Run but now faced suddenly-renewed sustained artillery fire from the massed Confederate batteries on Henry Hill. Fortunately, the stalled Dominion line was shielded in part by a line of woods that stood approximately a quarter-mile south of the Run.

  In front was an open pasture that offered defenders a clear field of fire against oncoming attackers. Even the Regulars who had led the assault over Stone Bridge had become bogged down by the combination of the artillery and stiff resistance by Sidney Johnston’s Corps, which included regiments from the Carolinas and Georgia. Now Colonel Savage was surveying his portion of the front with the captain who had led the Regulars’ across.

  “Fire’s too heavy for a direct assault. No cover, either.” He glanced west toward the Pike. “If we can get some more men on the other side of the road, we might be able to flank them, though…”

  The captain, a tough young West Pointer named Reynolds, looked behind him. “There’s still some regiments stacked up behind the Bridge. If you send word back to Division…” He turned back and grunted. “Damn, Colonel, look across the Pike!”

  Savage, who had resumed studying the Rebel position in front of him, moved his binoculars to the right. Blue soldiers were flooding toward them from the slope o
f Matthews Hill. So much for I Corps’ pincer movement… If the Rebs chase I Corps completely off that hill, we’ll be the ones getting flanked…

  “Captain, we’ve got to move men across the Pike and reinforce our line to cut off any enemy flanking movements.” He turned to his aide, crouched down beside him. “Joe, get back to Division. Tell them I’m got a thin line of Regulars across the Pike. They must be reinforced as to prevent a flanking attack. Got that? Now go!

  “Captain Reynolds, take the rest of your men and form a line on an angle from the Pike back to the stream. Form a pocket to receive the survivors from that hill. Tell whoever is in command of the reinforcements what the orders are. Stop any attempts to flank and receive the survivors!”

  Reynolds nodded grimly. Both men knew Savage was risking a pullout of his best troops in the face of a possible Rebel advance. Everything depended on how quickly the troops still east of the Bridge could reinforce the Regulars…once Reynolds got that pitifully thin line over there beefed up…

  ___________

  The 1st New Jersey and the other regiments of the center (Lewis Ford) prong of II Corps’ advance were also pinned down by the heavy Rebel fire. Colonel Judge had led his men across with relatively low casualties but had run into stiff Southern resistance at the edge of the woods. Judge, without other direction from Corps, was still thinking offensively: Once his line hooked up with the advance from Ball’s Ford, they should have enough strength to swing around the Reb position and take them in an arching movement from the southeast. As he had told Captain Wilder---who had reported the 1st Jersey’s initial success at Lewis Ford back to General Worth’s position east of Bull Run---the objective was still the artillery on Henry Hill.

  Judge, whose long back ached from spending most of the last three hours hunched over, was now on his knees behind a big boulder. He took off his hat and brushed the sweat off his prominent brow. Damn, I’m sweating like a dog. Those Rebs must be frying out there in the sun. How do the bastards take it? A corporal he had sent south in the direction of Ball’s Ford now slid in beside him.

  “Well, any sign of them?’

  “Yes, Sir. They’s troops coming up a road behind that hill over there.” The Corporal pointed to a rise on the south side of the small tributary stream that split the position at Lewis Ford.

  Judge grunted. “About time. They wouldn’t want to miss the party…”

  “But Sir, that’s not all. There’s a bigger hill just past the road our boys are coming up…”

  The Colonel glanced at his second-in-command.

  “…and Sir. There’s a whole lot of men coming down that hill. They’ll be running into the boys on that road any minute!”

  ___________

  New Market-Warrenton Pike Road

  West of Bull Run

  12:45 p.m.:

  The Captain was out in front of the 1st Illinois, marching alongside the 1st Sergeant. His major had just pulled off the road to await the arrival of Colonel Halas and the Brigade staff. The Captain could hear the battle on the other side of the hill to their right and wondered when the order would come to turn off the road and climb the hill. Unless it came soon, he reckoned, the Regiment looked to be marching away from the fight. Not that the prospect particularly bothered him, personally.

  A muttering began to ripple across the column, from left to right rather than forward to back. The Captain looked over just as his Sergeant swore loudly: A large body of men, many in blue jackets, flying what appeared from this distance to be the Dominion colors, was advancing down the slope of the big, wide hill to the east. Reinforcements, the Captain guessed. Those boys must have marched all night…

  Many of the men in the 1st Illinois were hardened veterans of the Indian wars. One of them was the 1st Sergeant. He had heard the orders this morning, overheard the discussion of the Major and his officers. They were marching point on the left flank of the Army. There weren’t supposed to be any Dominion troops east of them!

  “I don’t like this, Captain. My gut tells me those are Rebels, sure enough!”

  The Captain was perplexed: the Ball’s Ford crossing was supposed to be the far left movement. But they had crossed unopposed. What would a Rebel force be doing wandering around this far from the battle? And that does look like our own flags…

  On his own initiative, he nevertheless halted the column. “I believe they’re our’s, Sergeant. But let’s wait for the Major…”

  The force from the wide hill was within 100 yards now and the Captain could see a broad-shouldered officer on a fine grey horse among the cluster of officers congregating around the flags. The officer appeared to be issuing orders. The lead elements of the force coming down the hill now swung out into a battle line. They paused on command less than 75 yards away and raised their muskets…

  “Get down! Prepare to return fire!” The 1st Sergeant wasn’t waiting any longer for his story-telling Captain---or the Major---to come to a decision. Blue jackets or not, that’s the enemy up there... Rebs who showed up out of nowhere and right on our flank!

  The first volley tore holes in the 1st Illinois, but the 1st Sergeant’s quick action probably saved the Regiment from the fate of so many other Dominion soldiers today. That, plus the fact that these veterans had sized up the advance from the hill individually and, like the 1st Sergeant, didn’t care for what they were seeing…

  The lanky Captain might have been one of those torn apart but for the reflex action of the Sergeant, who grabbed him and pulled him to his knees just as the men on the hill aimed their muskets.

  “Still want to wait for the Major, Captain?”

  The Captain, whose left pant had torn when he was dragged down, shook his head. “A little late for that, Sergeant. What do you suggest now?”

  “That we pull the boys back off this road and up that hill behind us. That’ll give the units behind us room to maneuver. We have to counter-attack or these Rebs’ll push us right back across the Run.”

  The Captain began to nod in agreement as he looked back down the road. But what he saw was sickening:

  While the 1st Illinois was a veteran unit, the next unit in line, the 2nd New Jersey, wasn’t. The Jersey boys were making a stand, but out in the open road. Firing down on them as they advanced, the Virginia Brigade cut and diced them in a matter of minutes. Behind them, the 1st Delaware was stacked up on the road, with the rest of the Dominion force behind them. The Ball’s Ford prong was gridlocked on the road running back to Bull Run…

  ___________

  Warrenton Pike just

  West of Stone Bridge

  12:55 p.m.:

  Dennis Felton could hear the cheers of the Southerners---that infernal whoop---from the slope of Matthews Hill as he pushed the survivors of his Brigade toward the Blue lines near the Bridge.

  He looked back to get his bearings. He was positioned now on a plateau of the Hill, about halfway between the point where Young’s Branch stream curved south of the Dominion line. With him were a small core of officers and fighting men, including the still-bleeding lieutenant from the 1st Brooklyn.

  “Keep them moving, the Rebs aren’t advancing!”

  Much to Colonel Felton’s relieved surprise, the Southern advance had petered out after the initial attack had disintegrated his command. The Rebels were milling about above him, firing their weapons and cheering, but their own cohesion had dissolved despite the frantic, visible pleas of their officers.

  “Come on, keep the men moving towards the Bridge! We can reform behind the II’s line!” As he hurried the men along, the Colonel took time to glance back on the hill: no sign of Wool or his staff. Damn, he didn’t surrender, did he? He could see nothing but cheering Rebels from the crest on down. What the hell happened to the rest of the Corps?

  ___________

  Western Rear Slope of

  Mathews Hill

  12:55 p.m.:

  What the hell happened was that the orderly withdrawal of the remainder of the 2nd Division had been proceed
ing smoothly back to Sudley Springs when a mob of screaming men, some disarmed, some waving their muskets, had crashed into the lead ranks. Roberdeau’s Brigade’s surprise attack had rolled on after decimating the poor 2nd Vermont, pushing down other equally unprepared 2nd Division regiments.

  When the wave hit the bewildered remaining 1st Division regiments--men who had watched as their comrades from the 1st and part of their own 2nd Brigades were mowed down by the main body of Twiggs’ Corps---the orderly retreat became a panicked rout.

  Men who had not yet fired their loaded muskets in anger abandoned formation and turned north in a sprint away from the crossings at Sudley. The scene grew more chaotic as the unit cohesion dissolved entirely. That one Southern brigade---its pursuit considerably slowed as its own semi-trained men paused to celebrate their initial success---could put some 14 Dominion regiments to flight was stark testimony to the unreadiness of the Dominion army for battle.

  And where was General Wool? To his credit, the General valiantly tried to stem the rout his colossal collapse of nerve on the crest of Matthews Hill had sparked. After dismissing the fuming Colonel Hodges, General Wool had ordered the withdrawal of the remaining four regiments---the 5th New York, 1st Indiana, 1st Pennsylvania and 2nd Ohio---back down the rear slope and up towards the Springs. They were approaching the lead regiments of the 2nd Division when Roberdeau’s attack came out of nowhere, much as the earlier assault by Twiggs’ main body had caught the initial advance by surprise.

  “Not more of them? Are the woods filled with Rebels?” Wool’s adjutant looked to the southwest as the sounds of musket fire suddenly erupted. The General’s party was still on the crest, at the moment turned due west to watch the retreat.