The enemy held a strong position on a ridge difficult of ascent, and immediately in front of a dense pine thicket. At least three hundred yards separated us, and the charge was to be across a wheatfield, and of course without shelter of any description. It was a desperate undertaking; but upon that charge rested the fate of the Confederate army. At the command, with one wild, deafening-yell, the Confederates emerged from the woods, and, amidst a perfect storm of bullets, the gallant fellows rushed across the field. But they never wavered nor hesitated, and, dashing up the acclivity, drove the enemy pell-mell from their strong position into the thicket in their rear.
Halting the column for a minute to reform, Elzey pressed on in pursuit; and, when we came once more into the open country, we saw before us, and for a mile down to our right, no organized force, but one dense mass of fugitives. With the successful charge of Elzey upon their right flank, the whole of the Federal army had given way, and was rushing madly in the direction of Washington. Nothing that I ever saw afterwards could compare with that panic; and, as we pressed on in pursuit, men surrendered themselves by hundreds.
It was whilst thus pursuing the enemy that President Davis and Generals Johnston and Beauregard rode up to Colonel Elzey, amid the joyful shouts of the men, and the former, with countenance beaming with excitement and enthusiasm, seizing him by the hand, and giving it a hearty shake, exclaimed: “General Elzey, you are the Blucher of the day.”
Inclining to the right, the command halted for a few minutes near the Henry House, and close by the famous Rickett’s battery, which had been captured by the Eighth Georgia infantry, after a most desperate struggle. The ground was thickly strewn with the dead and wounded of the Seventy-Ninth New York Highlanders, which gallant regiment had supported the battery. The wounded were suffering terribly for water; and our men spent every moment in attending to their wants.
A little incident occurred here which I shall relate. Among the fatally wounded was an officer who, from his uniform, we knew to be a captain. The poor fellow had been shot through the head, and was about to breathe his last. Thinking to relieve him, Captain (afterwards Colonel) Herbert unbuttoned his coat, when he discovered a pocket-book and a package of letters in one of the pockets. Taking possession of them, he attended the wounded officer until he died. Upon examining the pocket-book, he found it contained some sixty-five or seventy dollars in gold; the letters were from his wife, and proved his name to be Brown. Two years after Captain Herbert was wounded and taken prisoner upon the field of Gettysburg. He had never parted with the gold nor the letters, and when sufficiently recovered from his wounds, he caused to be inserted in the New York Herald an advertisement calling upon the widow of the deceased officer to come forward and claim the property. In due time she made her appearance, a charming Scotch woman, not, as she said for the sake of claiming the money, but to hear from his own lips all about the last moments of her husband. She had received an imperfect account of his being shot from some of his men, but wished to learn of his death. Never shall I forget the look of gratitude she gave the Captain when he finished his story, (for the author was present at the interview,) and seizing his feeble hand, while great tears stole down her beautiful cheeks, she heaped upon him a thousand blessings.
She was our constant attendant for a week afterwards, and when she left us, seemed much affected. We subsequently learned from her that a valuable and highly-prized watch that her husband had on his person when shot, had been recovered with much difficulty, one of his own men having appropriated it after his Captain’s fall.
Resuming our march, the column crossed the Stone Bridge, and took the turnpike leading to Alexandria, confident that we were to pursue the enemy to the very gates of his capital. But we were doomed to a bitter disappointment; for, after marching a mile or two, we came to a right-about, and silently retraced our steps to Manassas. Tired, hungry and dispirited, we reached our camping ground long after nightfall, and, despite a drenching rain that set in about 12 o’clock, enjoyed a refreshing sleep.
CHAPTER III.
The morning after the battle of Manassas all seemed chaos, or confusion worse confounded. The cold, disagreeable rain that had set in during the night still continued, and the troops were provided with no means to shelter themselves from the pitiless storm which raged; and to add to this discomfort, the commissary wagons could not be found, and the men were almost entirely without provisions. Staff officers were galloping in every direction, looking for regiments that had been lost on the march of the night before, and it seemed for a while as though the utmost efforts of the general officers and their assistants would never be able to restore order out of all this muddle.
All day long this state of affairs continued. We had gained a great battle, it was true, and had we continued the pursuit, the command would have remained intact to a great degree; but the demoralizing effects of countermarching an army in the moment of victory were here strongly evidenced. The impression had gained ground that an opportunity had been let slip to deal the enemy a fatal blow, and therefore dissatisfaction was expressed on every side, and more than once I heard it said that “if we had not intended following up what successes we might meet with, there was but little gained in fighting the battle.”