The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (87 page)

    Judge, whose long back ached from spending most of the last three hours hunched over, was now on his knees behind a big boulder. He took off his hat and brushed the sweat off his prominent brow
. Damn,
I’m
sweating like a dog. Those Rebs
must be frying out there in the sun. How do the bastards take it?
A corporal he had sent south in the direction of Ball’s Ford now slid in beside him.

     “Well, any sign of them?’

      “Yes, Sir. They’s troops coming up a road behind that hill over there.” The Corporal pointed to a rise on the south side of the small tributary stream that split the position at Lewis Ford.

       Judge grunted. “About time. They wouldn’t want to miss the party…”

      “But Sir, that’s not all. There’s a bigger hill just past the road our boys are coming up…”

       The Colonel glanced at his second-in-command.

       “…and Sir. There’s a whole lot of men coming down that hill. They’ll be running into the boys on that road any minute!”

___________

New Market-Warrenton Pike Road

West of Bull Run

12:45 p.m.:

   The Captain was out in front of the 1
^st
Illinois, marching alongside the 1
^st
Sergeant. His major had just pulled off the road to await the arrival of Colonel Halas and the Brigade staff. The Captain could hear the battle on the other side of the hill to their right and wondered when the order would come to turn off the road and climb the hill. Unless it came soon, he reckoned, the Regiment looked to be marching
away
from the fight. Not that the prospect particularly bothered
him
, personally.

    A muttering began to ripple across the column, from left to right rather than forward to back. The Captain looked over just as his Sergeant swore loudly: A large body of men, many in blue jackets, flying what appeared from this distance to be the Dominion colors, was advancing down the slope of the big, wide hill to the east.
Reinforcements
, the Captain guessed.
Those boys must have marched all night…

    Many of the men in the 1
^st
Illinois were hardened veterans of the Indian wars. One of them was the 1
^st
Sergeant. He had heard the orders this morning, overheard the discussion of the Major and his officers. They were marching point on the
left flank
of the Army. There weren’t supposed to be any Dominion troops east of them!

    “I don’t like this, Captain. My gut tells me those are Rebels, sure enough!”

    The Captain was perplexed:
the Ball’s Ford crossing was supposed to be the far left
movement. But they had crossed unopposed. What would a Rebel force be doing
wandering around this far from the battle? And that does look like our own flags…

     On his own initiative, he nevertheless halted the column. “I believe they’re our’s, Sergeant. But let’s wait for the Major…”

     The force from the wide hill was within 100 yards now and the Captain could see a broad-shouldered officer on a fine grey horse among the cluster of officers congregating around the flags. The officer appeared to be issuing orders. The lead elements of the force coming down the hill now swung out into a battle line. They paused on command less than 75 yards away and raised their muskets…

     “Get down! Prepare to return fire!” The 1
^st
Sergeant wasn’t waiting any longer for his story-telling Captain---or the Major---to come to a decision.
Blue jackets or not, that’s the enemy up there... Rebs who showed up out of nowhere and right on our flank!

     The first volley tore holes in the 1
^st
Illinois, but the 1
^st
Sergeant’s quick action probably saved the Regiment from the fate of so many other Dominion soldiers today. That, plus the fact that these veterans had sized up the advance from the hill individually and, like the 1
^st
Sergeant, didn’t care for what they were seeing…

     The lanky Captain might have been one of those torn apart but for the reflex action of the Sergeant, who grabbed him and pulled him to his knees just as the men on the hill aimed their muskets.

     “Still want to wait for the Major, Captain?”

     The Captain, whose left pant had torn when he was dragged down, shook his head. “A little late for that, Sergeant. What do you suggest now?”

     “That we pull the boys back off this road and up that hill behind us. That’ll give the units behind us room to maneuver. We have to counter-attack or these Rebs’ll push us right back across the Run.”

      The Captain began to nod in agreement as he looked back down the road. But what he saw was sickening:

    While the 1
^st
Illinois was a veteran unit, the next unit in line, the 2
^nd
New Jersey, wasn’t. The Jersey boys were making a stand, but out in the open road. Firing down on them as they advanced, the Virginia Brigade cut and diced them in a matter of minutes. Behind them, the 1
^st
Delaware was stacked up on the road, with the rest of the Dominion force behind them. The Ball’s Ford prong was gridlocked on the road running back to Bull Run…

___________

Warrenton Pike just

West of Stone Bridge

12:55 p.m.:

     Dennis Felton could hear the cheers of the Southerners---that infernal whoop---from the slope of Matthews Hill as he pushed the survivors of his Brigade toward the Blue lines near the Bridge.

    He looked back to get his bearings. He was positioned now on a plateau of the Hill, about halfway between the point where Young’s Branch stream curved south of the Dominion line. With him were a small core of officers and fighting men, including the still-bleeding lieutenant from the 1
^st
Brooklyn.

      “Keep them moving, the Rebs aren’t advancing!”

      Much to Colonel Felton’s relieved surprise, the Southern advance had petered out after the initial attack had disintegrated his command. The Rebels were milling about above him, firing their weapons and cheering, but their own cohesion had dissolved despite the frantic, visible pleas of their officers.

      “Come on, keep the men moving towards the Bridge! We can reform behind the II’s line!” As he hurried the men along, the Colonel took time to glance back on the hill: no sign of Wool or his staff
. Damn, he didn’t surrender, did he?
He could see nothing but cheering Rebels from the crest on down.
What the hell happened to the rest of the Corps?

___________

Western Rear Slope of

Mathews Hill

12:55 p.m.:

    
What the hell happened
was that the orderly withdrawal of the remainder of the 2
^nd
Division had been proceeding smoothly back to Sudley Springs when a mob of screaming men, some disarmed, some waving their muskets, had crashed into the lead ranks. Roberdeau’s Brigade’s surprise attack had rolled on after decimating the poor 2
^nd
Vermont, pushing down other equally unprepared 2
^nd
Division regiments.

     When the wave hit the bewildered remaining 1
^st
Division regiments--men who had watched as their comrades from the 1
^st
and part of their own 2
^nd
Brigades were mowed down by the main body of Twiggs’ Corps---the orderly retreat became a panicked rout.

    Men who had not yet fired their loaded muskets in anger abandoned formation and turned north in a sprint away from the crossings at Sudley. The scene grew more chaotic as the unit cohesion dissolved entirely. That one Southern brigade---its pursuit considerably slowed as its own semi-trained men paused to celebrate their initial success---could put some 14 Dominion regiments to flight was stark testimony to the unreadiness of the Dominion army for battle.

     And where was General Wool? To his credit, the General valiantly tried to stem the rout his colossal collapse of nerve on the crest of Matthews Hill had sparked.  After dismissing the fuming Colonel Hodges, General Wool had ordered the withdrawal of the remaining four regiments---the 5
^th
New York, 1
^st
Indiana, 1
^st
Pennsylvania and 2
^nd
Ohio---back down the rear slope and up towards the Springs. They were approaching the lead regiments of the 2
^nd
Division when Roberdeau’s attack came out of nowhere, much as the earlier assault by Twiggs’ main body had caught the initial advance by surprise.

      “Not more of them? Are the woods filled with Rebels?” Wool’s adjutant looked to the southwest as the sounds of musket fire suddenly erupted. The General’s party was still on the crest, at the moment turned due west to watch the retreat.

      Wool took in the noise and seemed to calmly accept that he had been outflanked again. “Send word to the 2
^nd
Ohio. They are to swing to the left and meet whatever advance comes across the field.” He turned to another aide. “Who’s behind Ohio? 1
^st
Pennsylvania? Tell its commander to swing in behind. We must stop the Rebel advance and reestablish contact with the 2
^nd
Division!”

    Roberdeau’s Brigade---mostly hard, first-generation Mississippians, Alabamans and tough natives of the Louisiana bayous---had marched to war bringing their trusty Kentucky Long Rifles. The Long Rifles were not favored by the ‘Old Army’ because of reliability issues with groove-clogging and weight of ammunition, but in the hands of men familiar with the weapon, they could be shockingly effective at longer distances than the standard smooth-bore, muzzle-loading USBAA musket. That’s why the poor 2
^nd
Vermont had been mowed down before it scarcely knew it was under attack.

      Now these tough frontiersmen had moved past the groaning, bleeding wreckage of the 2
^nd
Vermont. While the Alabamans on the west end of the line and most of Major Bassett’s Mississippians unleashed their fire into the 2
^nd
Division’s stunned 1
^st
Ontario, speeding up the collapse of that Division, the 2
^nd
Louisiana sighted the Ohioans.

     “General, we have to move back! Look…the main Rebel line has reformed and is moving this way!”

      Wool turned slowly in the saddle and looked back. A Confederate force had coalesced out of the confusion on the forward slope and was now cresting the hill.  In minutes, his command would be facing fire from two directions…

       He looked at his remaining staff. “Let’s get down this hill and back to the Springs. We’ve got to find General Kearny and the 2
^nd
Division’s staff.”  They swept right to pass the retreating 5
^th
New York and rode down onto the field in time to be caught in the turmoil caused by the Louisianans’ second volley.

    If 1
^st
Pennsylvania’s commander ever got the word to reinforce the 2
^nd
Ohio’s defense, he either could not or would not comply: the Pennsylvanians, their eyes on the Run and apparent safety, brushed passed the Ohio line and headed west to the ford. The Ohio regiment, after absorbing the crippling Long Rifle fire, turned to discover blue uniforms racing, not to their aid, but past them. They joined the parade.

      “Come on boys, do your duty, turn around and fight!” General Wool was frantically lashing out with his sword, screaming at running men who paid him no heed.  His flag sergeant was down in the melee, though no one later could recall whether he had been hit or simply thrown from his terrified horse. At any rate, a staff lieutenant now grabbed the stanchion with one hand and pulled on Wool’s horse’s reins with his other.

       “General, you have to get out of h…”

       Wool was suddenly airborne, the blue sky raining black dirt and clumps of grass. He hit the ground with a hard thud and lay stunned. A black-beard was looking down on him with sad, sympathetic eyes. “Are ye all right, Gin’rl? That was some bounce ye took.”

        A second blast exploded near by and Black Beard fell protectively over him. “The damn Rebels seem to have got cannon to the crest… And I wonder what happened to our’s?”

       Wool rose to his knees and looked back at the crest. A new set of flags was visible, motionless in the sun, among the party of horsemen occupying the ground he had just abdicated. At least one full battery was now setting up to fire.  He looked around: Shreds of his flag were visible on a blood stained body that no longer connected to a head. None of his staff were near. The grizzled black-bearded sergeant: “Aye, Gin’rl. That shot took your gang direct. I was watchin’. One moment yer ridin’ glorious fast. Next moment, yer flyin’ through the air…

     “Ken ye walk, Gin’rl? Tis’ a ways to the stream, but we’ve no choice. Can’t stay here, and yer horse seems to have made his own arrangements…” Another blast from the crest and iron whistled overhead.  Sgt. Black Beard pulled Wool to his feet. “Time to go, Gin’rl. While they’re busy reloadin’.”