CHAPTER IV.

ON TO RICHMOND—BIVOUAC--SECOND NIGHT'S HALT-A SCARE-A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT-CENTERVILLE-BATTLE OF BLACKBURN'S FORD.

On the 15th of July we cross the Potomac on the Chain Bridge, and are marching on the sacred soil of old Virginia, our first march to Richmond.

We all feel jubilant, and each man keeps time to the tune of "John Brown's Body," and, as the song goes, he is still marching on. So are we, and pass through some dilapidated old villages. We march through Germantown, which is in flames, set fire by some lawless fellow that will be missing when the hour of action comes. The poor people run around trying to save something, but are so bewildered that they don't know what they are doing. All we can do is to look on as we pass at the destruction and misery caused by this fratricidal war.

We come to a place on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad called Vienna, where a train containing some Ohio troops was fired upon by some skulking rebels as it passed, killing and wounding several. We pass on a few miles further and the order comes to bivouac for the night, which we were glad to do, after our march of fifteen miles. We stack our arms, build our little fires, cook our coffee, and take our frugal meal, which is relished with a good appetite. We spread our blankets on the ground, cover up, sleep and dream till morning dawns, and we are ready to renew the march, which we commenced at 7 o'clock. The band strike up the tune of Dixie, and all keep step with the music. Nothing worthy of note happens on this day, except to keep a sharp outlook for the enemy, but none appear, and we file into some nice fields a few miles from Centerville and camp for the night. The troops are all massed in the fields, and it is a beautiful sight

at night, especially at this time, for it is the largest number of troops that we have seen together thus far.

This is the night before our first battle, and every one has his own thoughts—some think, probably, of the loved ones far away, and that this night will be their last. Oh, how would the father or mother take it at home when the sad news should reach them of the death of their darling son, or the poor wife, and his darling children, who will comfort them in their affliction? But he finds consolation that there is One who will not desert them in the hour of trial, and feels satisfied to leave all to Him, and he lies down. to take the much needed sleep and be ready for the battle on the morrow. Everything is hushed in sleep, when at the hour of midnight, each man is awakened to be ready for an expected attack; but none comes, for the scare is caused by some unruly mules that try to get away from their fastenings and are making an unearthly noise.

On the 18th of July we buckle on our cartridge boxes, file out of our camp, and get on the Richmond road again. Shortly we halt by the road side for a brief rest, when a regiment of cavalry dash past. To our inexperienced eye, we thought there was enough of them to walk through the South, and that we would not have any fighting to do, and, after all, have to go home without firing a shot. Soon we are cut short in our thoughts of this kind, by the sharp report of pop, pop, pop, from a few pieces of musketry, and soon found out that the cavalry had "struck ile.” They dash back faster than they went. Fall in boys, is the order of our gallant Colonel McConnell, as he dashes up on his beautiful charger. Falling in, the order, double quick, is given, and down through the streets of Centerville we go, and cross Bull Run creek at Blackburn's Ford, where we smell the enemy's powder for the first time. They open on us from some masked batteries, but we pass to the right and maneuver in some fields in their front. skirmishers are having a lively time of it, and once in awhile we see a poor fellow fall to rise no more until the last day, when the trumpet shall awaken them to appear before their heavenly judge.

Our

We are in plain sight of the rebel artillery, which opens on us with shot and shell. There are some nice blackberries near by, and we cannot resist the temptation, and so fall too and eat as though nothing was happening. The Second Michigan, Twelfth New York and First Massachusetts, with our regiment, are brigaded together under Col. Richardson, an old hero of the Mexican war. He rides around and seems to be everywhere at once, and all feel confident when we see the brave hero, "Fighting Dick." We get behind a battery to support it, and lie down to watch the rebel shells burst in the woods beyond. Nothing is accomplished by this battle, but to find out the position of the enemy. Our brigade loose between two and three hundred in killed and wounded in this day's battle. It is evident the fighting is over, for we have not enough troops to dislodge the enemy, who are posted behind some formidable works, and we wait where we are for reinforcements to renew the attack. Thus ends our first day's fight, the battle of Blackburn's Ford.

CHAPTER V.

GETTING REINFORCEMENTS-OLD BUMFUZZLE-BATTLE OF BULL RUNA DISASTROUS DEFEAT-THE RETREAT-A BLUE MONDAY.

Saturday morning, and all through the preceding Friday, we receive reinforcements. As the troops pass we cheer them, and everyone is confident of a successful battle when it is fought. It is plain that the heaviest fighting will be on our right, and if we are left where we are we shall not have much of it to do.

I will not forget old Bumfuzzle, an old devil that poisoned a well we used to get water from at Camp Blair. We brought him along, and many of us believed it would have served him right to shoot him-but the old fellow stole away from us in the excitement of the battle, and, it is said, gave important information to the enemy concerning our forces and different positions held by our troops.

All is ready now, and Saturday night is the night before the great battle. We sit around and smoke our pipes. Not a shot is fired by either party, and all is still; but it is the ominous stillness before a great struggle, and each has his own peculiar thoughts. What are the loved ones at home thinking of? Probably every one is in a fever of excitement, thinking of the loved ones in danger, and many a prayer goes up to the throne of Grace to spare their friends, but, alas, the fortunes of war require some sacrifice, and many a poor soldier who lives to-night will never see another Sunday morning dawn. On both friend and foe the sun rises above the eastern forest and pours its beautfiul warm rays on all around. The ball is opened away to the right by the skirmishers, as they advance and drive the rebel pickets, followed closely by our men in solid masses, on the charge. They are met by the enemy, and a hand to hand fight takes place, when our men push them inside their works. The rebel artillery opens on the advancing columns.

and throw their deadly missels into their ranks. They falter, and cannot go any further, when the rebel infantry reforming, take courage, advance over their works, and drive our men back. Some new men relieve those who have been fighting, and going in with a cheer, drive the rebels back. For a long time neither side has much advantage, but we can tell by the direction of the roar of artillery that the rebel infantry are being driven inside their works again. Hark! we hear a yell as if all the fiends of bedlam were let loose, and the enemy drive our men before them, for they are reinforced by the famous Black Horse Cavalry, and nothing, it seems, can stop their terrible onslaught. Hurrah, hurrah, is heard along the lines, for it is the gallant Sixty-Ninth New York, a regiment composed of the stalwart sons of Erin, led by the brave Corcoran. They advance with a cheer, and meet the flower of the South. The chivalry try to ride over the mudsills, but are met by the bayonet, and thrust after thrust is made by the sturdy arms of the Celt, and many a horseman is left dangling from his horse's stirrups. Forward-charge, is the order given by their noble Colonel, and the Black Horse Cavalry are no more, as but few get back to tell the tale how they were cut to pieces. Surely, such men are worthy of all praise, and their name will be handed down by all good Americans as true defenders of this glorious country. This charge caused a lull in the battle. A locomotive whistle is heard from Manassas, and it is evident that Beauregard's army is being reinforced. Now we must not give them time to get to the battle ground before the rebel army is demolished, and accordingly the battle is renewed with more vigor than before. The roar of artillery and the rattle of musketry is almost deafening. Our men go forward once more on the charge, and drive the rebels before them, but are met by the fresh troops of Johnson's army and are forced back against superior numbers. Oh, that we could get reinforcements too, but, alas, for some one's neglect to keep Johnson from uniting his men with Beauregard's. Our men are hurled back in utter confusion. The excitement is taken up by the citizens who went from Washington to witness the battle. They