It is a dreadful mistake that has been made. And there seems to have been no excuse for it either. The deliberateness of the Rebel colonel has given Barry abundant time to have discovered his error. For Griffin subsequently declared, under oath, that, "After the officer who had been talking to the regiment had got through, he faced them to the left, marched them about fifty yards to the woods, then faced them to the right again, marched them about forty yards toward us, then opened fire upon us—and that was the last of us!"
It is a terrible blunder. For, up to this moment, the battle is undeniably ours. And, while the Rebel colonel has been haranguing his brave men, there has been plenty of time to have "passed the word" along the line of our batteries, and poured canister into the Rebel regiment from the whole line of eleven guns, at point-blank range, which must inevitably have cut it all to pieces. The fate of the day hung balanced right there and then—with all the chances in favor of McDowell. But those chances are now reversed. Such are the fickle changes in the fortunes of battle!
Instead of our batteries cutting to pieces the Rebel Infantry regiment, the Rebel Infantry regiment has mowed down the gallant artillerists of our batteries. Hardly a man of them escapes. Death and destruction reap a wondrous and instant harvest. Wounded, dying, or dead, lie the brave cannoniers at their guns, officers and men alike hors du combat, while wounded horses gallop wildly back, with bounding caissons, down the gentle declivity, carrying disorder, and further danger, in their mad flight.
The supporting Fire Zouaves and Marines, on the right and left of our line of guns, stand, with staring eyes and dumb open-mouths, at the sudden turn of affairs. They are absolutely paralyzed with astonishment. They do not run at first. They stand, quaking and panic-stricken. They are urged to advance upon the Rebel regiment—"to give them a volley, and then try the bayonet." In vain! They fire perhaps 100 scattering shots; and receive in return, as they break and run down the hill to the rear, volley after volley, of deadly lead, from the Rebel muskets.
But, as this Rebel regiment (Cummings's 33rd Virginia) advances to seize the crippled and defenceless guns, it is checked, and driven back, by the 1st Michigan Regiment of Willcox's Brigade, which has pushed forward in the woods at our extreme right.
Meanwhile, having been ordered by McDowell to support Ricketts's Battery, Howard has formed his four tired regiments into two lines—Berry's 4th Maine, and Whitney's 2nd Vermont, on the right and left of the first; and Dunnell's 5th, and his own 3rd Maine, under Staples, in the second line. Howard himself leads his first line up the elevated plateau of the Henry House. Reaching the crest, the line delivers its fire, volley after volley, despite the concentrated hail of the Enemy's Artillery and muskets. As the second line advances, a Rebel cannon-ball, and an unfortunate charge of our own Cavalry, scatters most of the 5th Maine. The 2nd Vermont, which has advanced 200 yards beyond the crest, rapidly firing, while the Enemy retires, is now, in turn, forced back by the Enemy's hot fire, and is replaced by the 3rd Maine, while the remnant of the 5th moves up to the extreme right of Howard's now single line. But the Rebel fire grows hotter and hotter, and owing to this, and a misunderstood order, Howard's line begins to dissolve, and then retires in confusion,—Howard and others vainly striving to rally his own utterly exhausted men.
Sherman's Brigade, too, has come over from our left, and now advances upon the deadly plateau, where lie the disabled Union batteries—the prizes, in full sight of both Armies, for which each seems now to be so desperately striving.
Quinby's 13th New York Rifles, in column of companies, leads the brigade, followed by Lieutenant-Colonel Peck's 2d Wisconsin, Cameron's 79th New York (Highlanders), and Corcoran's 69th New York (Irish), "in line of battle." Down the slope, across the ravine, and up, on the other side, steadily presses Quinby, till he reaches the crest. He opens fire. An advancing Rebel regiment retires, as he pushes up to where the Union batteries and cannoniers lie wounded and dying—the other three regiments following in line-of-battle until near the crest, when the fire of the Enemy's rifles and musketry, added to his heavy cannonading, grows so severe that the brigade is forced back to shelter in a roadway leading up the plateau.
Peck's 2nd Wisconsin, now emerges from this sheltered roadway, and steadily mounts the elevation, in the face of the Enemy's severe fire-returning it, with spirit, as it advances. But the Rebel fire becomes too galling. The gray-clad Wisconsin boys return to the sheltered road again, while the cry goes up from Sherman's ranks: "Our own men are firing at them!" Rallying at the road, the 2nd Wisconsin again returns, with desperate courage, to the crest of the hill, delivers its fire, and then, unable to withstand the dreadful carnage, falls back once more, in disorder.
At this, the 79th (Highland) Regiment springs forward, to mount the brow of the fatal hill, swept as it is, with this storm of shot and shell and musket-balls. Up, through the lowering smoke, lit with the Enemy's incessant discharges in the woods beyond, the brave Highlanders jauntily march, and, with Cameron and their colors at their head, charge impetuously across the bloody hill-crest, and still farther, to the front. But it is not in human nature to continue that advance in the teeth of the withering fire from Jackson's batteries, strengthened, as they are, by Pelham's and Kemper's. The gallant fellows fall back, rally again, advance once more, retire again, and at last,—the heroic Cameron being mortally wounded,—fall back, in confusion, under the cover of the hill.