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poised spirit of our government and people. The only national recognition of the victory was the passage of resolutions in the Provisional Congress, acknowledging the interposition and mercies of Providence in the affairs of the Confederacy, and recommending thanksgiving services in all the churches of the South on the ensuing Sabbath.

The victory had been won by the blood of many of our best and bravest, and the public sorrow over the dead was called upon to pay particular tributes to many of our officers who had fallen in circumstances of particular gallantry. Among others, Gen. Bee, to whose soldierly distinction and heroic services on the field justice was never fully done, until they were especially pointed out in the official reports, both of General Johnston and General Beauregard, had fallen upon the field. The deceased general was a graduate of West Point. During the Mexican war, he had served with marked distinction, winning two brevets before the close of the war; the last that of captain, for gallant and meritorious conduct in the storming of Chapultepec. His achievements since that time in wars among the Indians were such as to attract towards him the attention of his State; and in his dying hand, on the field in which he fell, he grasped the sword which South Carolina had taken pride in presenting him.

Colonel Francis S. Bartow, of Georgia, who had fallen in the same charge in which the gallant South Carolinian had received his death-wound, was chairman of the Military Com mittee of the Provisional Congress, and that body paid a public tribute of more than usual solemnity and eloquence to his memory.*

* An eloquent tribute was paid to the memory of Colonel Bartow in Congress by Mr. Mason, of Virginia, in which some interesting recitals were given of Colonel Bartow's short, but brilliant experiences of the camp. The following extract is indicative of a spirit of confidence, which was peculiarly characteristic of the officers and men alike of our army:

"While in camp, and before the advance of Patterson's column into Virginia, but while it yet hovered on the border in Maryland, watched closely by Johnston's army, I said, casually, to Colonel Bartow, "The time is ap proaching when your duties will call you to meet Congress at Richmond, and I look to the pleasure of travelling there with you.' He replied, 'I don't think I can go; my duties will detain me here.' I told him that if a battle was fought between the two armies, it certainly was not then imminent, and I thought his service in Congress, and especially as chairman of the Military

The results of the victory of Manassas were, on the first days of its full announcement, received in the South as indica tive of a speedy termination of the war. The advance of our army on Washington was impatiently expected. A few days passed, and it became known to the almost indignant disappointment of the people, that our army had no thoughts of an advance upon the Northern capital, and was content to remain where it was, occupying the defensive line of Bull Run.

Much has been said and written in excuse of the palpable and great error, the perniciousness of which no one doubted after its effects were realized, of the failure of the Confederate arıny to take advantage of its victory, and press on tu Waslıington, where for days there was nothing to oppose them but


Committee, would be even more valuable to the country in Congress, than in the field. After a pause, and with a beaming eye, he said: 'No, sir; I shall never leave this army, until the battle is fought and won.' And, afterwards, while the two armies lay in front of each other, the enemy at Martinsburg, and Johnston with his command at Bunker Hill, only seven miles apart—the enemy we knew numbered some twenty-two thousand men, while on our side we could not present against them half that number, and the battle hourly expected. His head-quarters under a tree in an orchard, and his shelter and shade from a burning sun the branches of that tree, and his table a camp chest~ I joined him at dinner. Little is, of course, known of the views and purposes of a general in command, but it was generally understood that Johnston was then to give the enemy battle, should he invite it. In conversation on the chances of the fight, I said to Bartow,' of the spirit and courage of the troops I have no doubt, but the odds against you are immense.' His prompt reply was, 'they can never whip us. We shall not count the odds. We may be exterminated, but never conquered. I shall go into that fight with a determination never to leave the field alive, but in victory, and I know that the same spirit animates my whole command. How, then, can they whip us?'

“ Am I here to tell you how gallantly and truthfully he made that vow good on the bloody plain at Manassas, and how nobly the troops under his conimand there redeemed the pledge made for them? The battle was fought and won,'as he vowed at Bunker Hill, and he sealed in death his first promise in the field of war. Will you call this courage-bravery? No, no. Bartow never thought of the perils of the fight. Bravery, as it is termed, may be nothing more tha nervous insensibility. With him the incentives the battle-field were of a far different type. The stern and lofty purpose to free his country from the invader; the calm judgment of reason, paramount on its throne, overruling all other sensations; resolution and will combined to the deed, the consequence to take care of itself. There is the column of true majesty in man. Such was Bartow, and such will impartial history record him He won immortality in Fame, even at the thrcshold of her temple."

an utterly demoralized army, intent upon a continuance of their flight at the approach of our forces. In his official report, General Johnston insists that “no serious thoughts” were ever entertained of advancing against the capital, as it was considered certain that the fresh troops within the works were, in number, quite sufficient for their defence; and that if not, General Paiterson's army would certainly reinforce them soon enongh. This excuse takes no account of the utterly demor. alized condition of the Northern forces at Washington; and the further explanations of the inadequate means of our army in ammunition, provisions, and transportation are only satisfactory excuses, why the toil of pursuit was not undertaken immediately after the battle, and do not answer with complete satisfaction the inquiry why an advance movement was not made within the time when means for it might have been furnished, and the enemy was still cowed, dispirited, and trembling for his safety in the refuges of Washington.

The fact is, that our army had shown no capacity to understand the extent of their fortunes, or to use the unparalleled opportunities they had so bravely won. They had achieved a victory not less brilliant than that of Jena, and not more profitable than that of Alma. Instead of entering the gates of Sebastopol from the last-named field, the victors preferred to wait and reorganize, and found, instead of a glorious and un

а resisting prey, a ten months' siege.

The lesson of a lost opportunity in the victory of Manassas had to be repeated to the South with additions of misfortune. For months the world was to witness our largest army in the field confronting in idleness and the demoralizations of a stationary camp an enemy already routed within twenty miles of his capital; giving him the opportunity not only to repair the shattered columns of his Grand Army, but to call nearly half a million of new men into the field ; to fit out four extensive armadas; to fall upon a defenceless line of sea-coast; to open a new theatre of war in the West and on the Mississippi, and to cover the frontiers of half a continent with his armies and aavies.


A friend, Captain McFarland, who did service in the battle of Manassas as a private in Captain Powell's Virginia cavalry, has furnished us with a diary of some thrilling incidents of the action. We use a few of them in Captain McFarland's words:


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" At 8 A. M. we proceeded to take position as picket guard and videttes in a little clump of timber, about three quarters of a mile, directly in front of the Confederate earth-works at Mitchell's Ford. The picket consisted of twelve infantry and three cavalry. Having secured our horses, we lay down in the edge of the timber, and with our long-range rities commenced to pick off such of the enemy as were sufficiently presumptuous to show themselves clear of the heavy timber which crowned the distant hill. In a short time, the enemy, being very much annoyed by our sharp shooting, ran out from the woods, both in our front and on the left, two rifle pieces, and threw their conical shells full into our covert. The pickets, however, were not dislodged. But two of our horses became frantic from the whistling and explosion of the shells, and we found it necessary to remove them, Just at this moment, a detachment of the enemy's cavalry came dashing down the road, but halted before they came within range of the muskets of the infantry. The enemy then com. menced a licavy firing with artillery on our earth-works at the ford, and we retired beyond Bull Run.

In the mean time, the thunder of battle was heard on our left, and from the heights above the stream could be seen the smoke from the scene of the conAlict, which, as it shifted position, showed the varying tide of conflict. Occasionally, a small white cloud of smoke made its appearance above the horizon, indicating the premature explosion of a bomb-shell; while, at painfully regular intervals, the dull, heavy report of the enemy's thirty-two pounder told us that its position remained unassailed. In the mean time, the infantry in the trenches at Mitchell's Ford were impatiently awaiting the vainly looked-for advance upon our breastworks. The enemy threw their shells continuously into this locality, but during the whole day killed only three men, and these were standing up con irary to orders. This position was commanded by the brave Brigadier-gener al M. L. Bonham, of South Carolina.

About 11 o'clock, the cavalry were ordered to ride to the main field of action, in the vicinity of the Stone Bridge. We set off at a dashing gallop throwing down fences and leaping ditches, in our eagerness to participate in the then raging conflict. In crossing an open field, I was, with Lieutenant Timberlake, riding at the head of a detachment, consisting of Captain Wickham's light-horse troop, and Captain E. B. Powell's company of Fairfax cavalry, when a shell was thrown at the head of the column from a rifle piece stationed at the distance of not less than two miles, and as, hurrying onward we leaned down upon our horses, the hurtling missile passed a few inche above us, burying itself harmlessly in the soft earth on our left.

On arriving near the scene of action, we took position below the Lewis house, under cover of an abruptly rising hill. Here we remained stationary

for about an hour. The enemy in the mean time, knowing our position, en deavored to dislodge us with their shells, which for some time came hissing over our heads, and exploded harmlessly in our rear. Finally, however, they lowered their guns sufficiently to cause their shot to touch the crest of the hill, and ricochet into our very midst, killing one man, besides wounding sev eral, and maiming a number of horses. But we still retained our position amid the noise of battle, which now became terrific.

From the distance came the roar of the enemy's artillery, while near by our field-pieces were incessantly vomiting their showers of grape and hurling their small shell into the very teeth of the foe. At intervals, as regiments came face to face, the unmistakable rattle of the musketry told that the small. arms of our brave boys were doing deadly work. At times, we could hear wild yells and cheers which rose above the din, as our infantry rushed on to the charge. Then followed an ominous silence, and I could imagine the fierce but quiet work of steel to steel, until another cheer brought me knowledge of the baffled enemy.

Meanwhile, our reinforcements were pouring by, and pressing with enthusi astic cheers to the battle-field. On the other hand, many of our wounded were borne past us to the rear. One poor fellow was shot through the left cheek; as he came past me, he smiled, and muttered with difficulty, "Boys, they've spoilt my beauty." He could say no more, but an expression of acute pain fitted across his face, and shaking his clenched fist in the direction of the foe, he passed on. Another came by, shot in the breast. His clothing had been stripped from over his ghastly wound, and at every breath, the warm lifeblood gushed from his bosom. I rode up to him, as, leaning on two companions, he stopped for a moment to rest. "My poor fellow," said I, "I am sorry to see you thus." "Yes! yes," was his reply, "they've done for me now, but my father's there yet! our army's there yet! our cause is there yet!" and raising himself from the arms of his companions, his pale face lighting up like & sunbeam, he cried with an enthusiasm I shall never forget, “and Liberty's there yet!" But this spasmodic exertion was too much for him, a purple flood poured from his wound, and he swooned away. I was enthusiastic before, but I felt then as if I could have ridden singly and alone upon a regiment, regardless of all but my country's cause.

Just then, the noble Beauregard came dashing by with his staff, and the cry was raised, that part of Sherman's battery had been taken. Cheer after cheer went up from our squadrons. It was taken up and borne along the whole battle-field, until the triumphant shout seemed one grand cry of victory. At this auspicious moment, our infantry who had been supporting the batteries were ordered to rise and charge the enemy with the bayonet. With terrific yells, they rushed upon the Federal legions with an impetuosity which could not be withstood, and terror-stricken, they broke and fled like deer from the ery of wolves. Our men followed hard upon them, shouting, and driving their bayonets up to the hilt in the backs of such of the enemy as by ill luck chanced to be hindmost in the flight.

At this moment, one of Gen. Beauregard's aids rode rapidly up and spoko to Col Radford, commander of our regiment of Virginia cavalry, who imme diately turned to us and shouted, "Men, now is our time!" It was the happiest moment of my life. Taking a rapid gallop, we crossed Bull Run about three-quarters of a mile below the Stone Bridge, and made for the rear of the

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