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"Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
On the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But left him alone with his glory."
BURIAL OF CAPTAIN WALTERS AT MIDNIGHT, DURING POPE'S RETREAT.
CHAPTER XIII.
MANASSAS AND FREDERICKSBURG.
Manassas. — The flying troops. — The unknown hero. — Desperate attempt to stop the retreat. — Recruiting the decimated ranks. — Fredericksburg. — Bravery of Meagher's brigade. — The impregnable heights. — The cost of battles. — Death of Bayard. — Outline of his life.
The plains of Manassas still speak to us. The smoke of battle that once hung over them has long since rolled away, but the blood of over forty thousand brave men of both North and South who here met, and fighting fell to rise no more, consecrates the soil. Between them and us the grass has grown green for many and many a summer, but it cannot hide the memory of their glorious deeds. From this altar of sacrifice the incense yet sweeps heavenward. The waters of Bull Run Creek swirl against their banks as of old, and, to the heedless passer-by, utter nothing of the despairing time when red carnage held awful sway, and counted its victims by the thousand; yet, if one strays thitherward who can listen to the mystic language of the waves, they will reword their burden of death and of dark disaster which "followed fast and followed faster," and at last overtook the devoted Northern army, and made wild confusion and wilder flight.