Personal Reminiscences of the War of 1861-5 / In Camp—en Bivouac—on the March—on Picket—on the Skirmish Line—on the Battlefield—and in Prison

by W. H. Morgan

THE BATTLE BEGINS

Pretty soon after the captain was shot, the Yankees advanced in line of battle, the skirmishers in front engaging in a lively fight over on the hill beyond the run, the Confederates retiring as the main body of the enemy advanced. All knew then that the fight was beginning and would soon be on in earnest. After the Confederate skirmishers returned to the south side of the run everything was quiet—a deathlike stillness prevailed for some time, which was intense and oppressive. All nerves were strung to a high tension. We were on the eve of a battle, a sure enough battle in which men would be wounded and killed, and who would be the victims no one knew.

Perhaps not a single man in the brigade, with the exception of General Longstreet, had ever heard the sound of a hostile gun before that day.

It was not long, however, until this silence was broken by the big boom of a Yankee cannon away over on the hill, and simultaneously, a long shell came shrieking through the air, making a noise that can not be described; it was more like the neigh of an excited or frightened horse than anything I can compare it to; a kind of "whicker, whicker, whicker" sound as it swapped ends in the air. This shell passed over high above all heads, striking the ground on the hill in the rear, making the dirt fly, and tearing a hole in the ground, as some of the boys said, "Big enough to bury a horse in."

I have said that all nerves were highly strung while waiting for the battle to begin. This shot and shell not only broke the silence and relaxed the nerve tension, but severely tried not a few nerves, caused many a heart to stand still, and face to blanch. I saw many pale faces; don't know how I looked, but felt rather pale.

This shell struck near a Confederate battery, which immediately limbered up and went to the rear at a gallop—why, I never knew; the supposition was that the battery withdrew in order to draw the Yankees on; if so, it had the desired effect, for in a few minutes the musketry firing began down at the ford. At first it was pop—pop—pop, then pop, pop, pop—and then a continuous roar in which no single shot could be distinguished; it was like a loud, continuing peal of heavy thunder. The roar was punctuated by frequent cannon shot and bursting shells, which sounded louder than the musketry. The noise was frightful, almost deafening, and such as we never heard before, but knew full well it was the "noise and din of battle," about which we had heard and read, but never experienced. I must say it was more terrific and awe-inspiring than I expected. Many of the balls and shells passed a few feet above us; shells and grapeshot struck among the trees and bushes that crowned the small bluff behind which the regiment was posted, with the rushing, swishing, fear-creating noise heard many times afterwards, but which I never learned to like or admire.

History records that General Washington, in his youthful days, in writing to a friend describing a battle with the Indians, said, "The sound of the bullets was music to mine ear." Now, I never had much ear for music, though I like good music, and can distinguish between good and bad music. I here and now record that the sound of shell, solid shot, grapeshot, shrapnel, minie ball, or any other kind of battle noise, was never "music to mine ear"; therefore, I conclude that any and all of these sounds, if music at all, is very poor music.

During the battle, Company G, of the Eleventh Regiment, was deployed as skirmishers along the run on the left flank of the Confederate line of battle, not far from the position occupied by the regiment, the men all lying down behind a fence that ran along the bank of Bull Run, in plain view of the other companies of the Eleventh Regiment; no Yankees appeared on this part of the line. And, I think, Company F was also deployed below Company G near the run.

The heavy firing in this battle did not last long, not over half an hour perhaps, but it seemed a long time.

In the midst of the heaviest firing, one of General Longstreet's staff officers galloped up to the Eleventh Regiment and called for two companies to go down to the ford. When asked how the battle was going, he said, "They have the advantage of us just now, but we will drive them back with these two companies." Some of the Yankees had charged across the creek, or run, at the ford. Colonel Garland called out at the top of his voice, "Major Harrison, take Company E and Company H down to the ford." These two companies, with Major Harrison leading them on horseback, rushed off through the bushes in double-quick time and into the fight they went.