Chapter XI: Louis’s Perilous Escape

To be pulled down in such an unceremonious fashion was a surprise in itself, but to find himself face to face with his enemy, the mountaineer, astonished Louis beyond measure. For the instant he could do nothing but stare at his assailant.

Then came the realization of his position--that Jacks was not only his personal enemy, but that the man likewise belonged to the Confederate forces, and as Captain Paulding and the others moved off on the double-quick he endeavored to pull himself away to go with them.

“No, yer don’t!” hissed rather than exclaimed the mountaineer. “I’ve got yer an’ I’m goin’ ter hold yer!”

His face, generally far from clean, was now covered with thick dirt, and over one cheek flowed a small stream of blood, for he had been wounded, not by a shot from the enemy, but from a tumble in the woods in which he had been hiding. As he spoke so vindictively he hauled Louis closely to him.

“Let me go!” panted the young Union soldier, and struggled to free himself. “Captain Paulding! Harry! Hel--”

The words died upon his lips as Sam Jacks clapped a dirty hand over his mouth. Then commenced a fierce struggle, and both rolled over and over in the tall grass, until, coming to the edge of a gully, both dropped a distance of six or eight feet, to bring up on a pile of damp leaves and dead tree branches.

Louis came down on top, and with such force that the mountaineer’s wind was for the moment knocked completely out of him. He uttered a grunt and a gasp, and ere he could recover Louis was on his feet and making for a spot where the side of the gully sloped upward.

“Stop him, Hogwell!” roared Jacks, and as he spoke another form loomed up before the young soldier. The man was the same who had assisted at making him a prisoner at the old mill, before the opening of the war. Hogwell had been in hiding with Sam Jacks for several hours, their intention being to see what they could steal after the battle should come to an end. Unfortunately, throughout the war both sides were afflicted with such terrible criminals, who had no respect for either dead or dying, their sole object being plunder.

“Who is it?” queried Hogwell, as he blocked Louis’s passage.

“Can’t yer see--it’s the rat we had the trouble with up near Deems,” growled Jacks. “Stop him. I allers calkerlated ter git squar with him.”

Hogwell grabbed Louis by the collar. Had the young soldier had his gun with him he would have either fired or used the bayonet. But the weapon had been lost at the first moment of Sam Jacks’s attack and now he had only his hands.

“Let go!” he commanded, and hauling back, he hit Hogwell squarely in the lower jaw. It was a heavy blow, delivered with all of Louis’s youthful strength and determination, and Hogwell went back as though struck with a club. Ere he could recover the young Union soldier was past him and speeding up the gully side with the speed of lightning.

“Stop, or I’ll fire!” he heard Hogwell yell, a moment later. But he kept on. Then came the report of the mountaineer’s long pistol and a bullet whizzed close to his head. Soon the shelter of the trees took him out of range.

The tussle in the gully had somewhat upset Louis’s mind, and when he started in search of the turnpike again he turned in exactly the opposite direction to that which he should have taken. On and on he went, through the brush and over trunks of decaying trees. More than once he stumbled, but picked himself up hastily and continued on his way, until suddenly he found himself ascending a hill where the thickness of the trees made further progress almost impossible.

“I’ve made a mistake,” he thought, much dismayed. “There is no road in this direction.”

Forced to halt, he listened intently. From several points around him came the distant sounds of musketry and occasionally the booming of a cannon. But to locate any of the sounds in particular was impossible. Indeed, the firing of the day had half deafened him.

“I’m in a pickle, with all the others gone,” he thought, dismally. “Even if I do find the road I’ll not know where to look for our company. However, I won’t be any worse off than lots more of our poor fellows. If only I can get among friends somebody in command will set me right. Perhaps this defeat will only be temporary.”

It was deliciously cool in the depths of the woods and this refreshed him. Having regained his breath, he retraced his steps as well as he was able. Ten minutes later he recrossed the gully, but at a point some distance above where the encounter with Jacks had occurred. He had gone on but a few feet farther when he almost stumbled over the body of a dead Union soldier. A little startled, he was about to go on, when a sudden thought seized him and he retraced his steps.

The poor fellow had belonged to a volunteer command. He was past middle age and cold, showing that he had been dead several hours. Beside him lay his gun and cap, and his cartridge box was still strapped around his waist.

“He’ll never want his gun again, poor fellow,” thought Louis, and kneeling down he unfastened the flap of the cartridge box and took out the supplies. This done, he picked up the gun and hurried on as before. Having a weapon made him feel much more like himself.

A short while later the road was gained. Here a scene of indescribable confusion met his gaze. Union troops of all kinds were rushing along, many of the men capless and gunless, having thrown all away in their anxiety to escape. On the ground lay the guns, with here and there a knapsack, and over all tramped men and horses. Cannon after cannon followed, the drivers of the horses beating their animals mercilessly in their endeavor to escape capture by the pursuing enemy; and mixed-up with these were the provision turnouts and occasionally the carriage of some politician or member of Congress, whose curiosity had brought him hither from Washington to see how this fight with the Confederates would end. It was a most humiliating spectacle; yet such was needed at that time to awaken the North to the true condition of affairs.

Presently a Pennsylvania company swept by, not over twenty-five strong. Louis ran to join them.

“Where from?” he asked of one of the soldiers, a young fellow scarcely older than himself.

“Harrisburg,” was the puffing reply. “Lost your company?”

“Yes--the Goreville Volunteers. Have you seen anything of them?”

“No; haven’t seen anything but a lot of rebs at our heels. Better come along if you want to save your skin. They’ve got a large reinforcement after us.”

On went the Harrisburg soldier, and Louis concluded he could do nothing better than keep at his side. Several miles were covered, and the few houses which composed Centerville were passed, when the road became blocked up in front. Presently half a dozen generals and their aides came dashing from one side and another.

“Face about, boys! We can whip them yet! Face about and form the line! Face about!”

The cry, well meant, was utterly useless. The soldiers were exhausted, having been on their feet since two o’clock that morning, and it was now after sundown. All but a few scattered regiments were thrown in hopeless confusion. Colonels could not find their companies, captains and lieutenants looked in vain for their men. Nine out of ten had still to learn what war and military organization really meant.

“This is Andy’s day and no mistake,” Louis half-murmured to himself. He could imagine Andy, in his lusty, Southern way, throwing up his plumed cavalry hat and shouting for the Confederacy. Well, there was one consolation--the war was not yet over.

Finding the men could not be organized for a stand at Centerville Ridge, General McDowell allowed them to continue toward Washington and at the same time sent Blenker’s brigade to cover the retreat. The troops which reached Fairfax Court House immediately took cars for Washington, and they carried with them as much of the arms and stores as was possible.

But it was only a small portion that got away thus easily. The vast majority of the Union soldiers, worn-out, heart-sick, and hungry enough to eat almost anything, had to tramp the remaining distance to the Capitol. They took various roads, and most of them did not come in until the next day, when it began to rain in torrents, causing the dusty roads to turn into rivers of mud. With the rain came a heavy fog from the bay, as if to add to the already accumulated misery, and in this fog and downpour those who had gone forth so full of hope, dragged back, to find a shelter wherever they could lay their heads, devour what was given them, and drop asleep before swallowing the last mouthful. Such is an actual picture of those days of awful gloom, when the fate of the nation hung in the balance. Had the Confederates followed up the victory gained at Bull Run, or rather, had their troops been in a condition to do so, it is more than likely Washington would have fallen. But the majority of the Southern soldiers were no better off than their Northern antagonists, and so, with the heavy rain coming on, nothing further was done.

It was not until twenty-four hours later that Louis found himself again in Washington. He had tramped in a roundabout way from Centerville, became lost, along with several thousands of other soldiers, and in all that time had had nothing to eat but three or four hardtacks he had picked up on the road beside a half-smashed haversack. He and the young soldier from Harrisburg, named Clarence Woolley, had kept together, and now they approached the grounds around the Capitol side by side, both limping painfully, for their feet were more than sore.

The generous ladies of Washington had arisen to the emergency. Tented booths had been erected, and hot coffee and sandwiches could be had for the asking. Louis was standing up against a tent pole, with a cup in one hand and a corned-beef sandwich in the other, when he was tapped on the shoulder, and turning saw Harry Bingham.

“Harry!” he exclaimed, joyfully. “Well, I’m glad to see somebody of our company. Where are the rest?”

“Captain Paulding and a dozen others are over in a corner of the White House grounds. I don’t know where the rest are. I was much worried about you. Are you O. K.?”

“Yes, excepting that I am dead for sleep. Here’s a fellow who lost his command, too,” and Louis introduced Woolley. The meal finished, the three walked over to the spot Harry Bingham had mentioned. Pennsylvania troops were gathering there, and soon Woolley found several men he knew and went off with them.

The meeting between the Goreville volunteers was rather a silent one. Captain Paulding and the other officers did what they could to cheer the men up, but all were too tired to listen; and quarters having been secured in a warehouse on a back street, the little band marched there and “turned in,” to sleep the sleep of the over-weary for many hours to come. Of the company, three had been killed outright, four were slightly wounded and two were still missing. The missing ones turned up the next day.

Such, in brief, were the experiences of the young soldiers at the memorable battle of Bull Run, called by Confederate historians the battles of Bull Run and Manassas. To Louis it was decidedly depressing, to Andy it was full of hope for the future. Many of those in the South imagined that the end of the conflict was now close at hand and that it would not be long before the North would call a truce and recognize the new Confederacy. But these people were sadly mistaken; the North had not yet been fairly aroused, and the Civil War, instead of being nearly ended, had but begun.