Part 34 (1/2)

War was yet a joke and the contagious fire of patriotism had flung its halo even over this night's work. Except here and there a veteran of the Mexican War, not one of these men had ever seen a battle or had the remotest idea what it was like.

John was marching with Sherman's brigade of Tyler's division. At six o'clock they reached the stone bridge which crossed Bull Run. On the hills beyond stretched a straggling line of grey figures. It couldn't be an army. Only a few skirmishers thrown out to warn off an attempt to cross the bridge. A white puff of smoke flashed on a hill toward the South, and the deep boom of a Confederate cannon echoed over the valley.

Tyler's guns answered in grim chorus. The men gripped their muskets and waited the word of command. John's brigade was deployed along the edge of a piece of woods on the right of the Warrenton turnpike and stood for hours. A rumble of disgust swept the lines:

”What t'ell are we waitin' for?”

”Why don't we get at 'em?”

”And this is war!”

And no breakfast either. An hour pa.s.sed and only an occasional crack of a musket across the s.h.i.+ning thread of silver water and the slow sullen echo of the artillery. They seemed to be just practising. The shots all fell short and n.o.body was hurt.

Another hour--it was eight o'clock and still they stood and looked off into s.p.a.ce. Nine o'clock pa.s.sed and the fierce rays of the climbing July sun drove the men to the shelter of the trees.

”If this is war,” yelled a red-breeched, fierce young Zouave, ”I'll take firecrackers and a Fourth of July for mine!”

”Keep your s.h.i.+rt on, Sonny,” observed a corporal. ”We _may_ have some fun yet before night.”

At ten o'clock something happened.

Suddenly a thousand grey clad men leaped from their cover over the hills and swept up stream at double quick. A solid ma.s.s of dust-covered figures were swarming below the stone bridge.

The regiment's battery dashed into position, its guns were trained and their roar shook the earth. The swarming grey lines below the bridge paid no attention. The shots fell short and Sherman sent for heavier guns.

The men in grey had formed a new line of battle and faced the Sudley and New Market road. Far up this road could now be seen a mighty cloud of dust which marked the approach of the main body of McDowell's Union army. He had made a wide flank movement, crossed Bull Run at Sudley Ford and was attempting to completely turn the Confederate position, while Sherman held the stone bridge with a demonstration of force.

A cheer swept the line as the dust rose higher and denser and nearer.

Banks of storm clouds were rising from the horizon. The air was thick and oppressive, as the two armies drew close in tense battle array. The turning movement had only been partly successful. It had been discovered before complete and a grey line had wheeled, gripped their muskets and stood ready to meet the attack.

The dust, cloud suddenly fell. McDowell's two divisions of eighteen thousand men spread out in the woods and made ready for the shock.

The sun burst through the gathering clouds for a moment and the edge of the woods flashed with polished steel.

A Federal battery dashed into position and placed one of its big black-wheeled guns in the front yard of a little white-washed farmhouse.

The farmer's wife faced the commander with indignant fury:

”Take that thing outen my front yard!”

The dust-and sweat-covered men paid no attention. They quickly sunk the wheels into the ground and piled their sh.e.l.ls in place for work.

The old woman stamped her foot and shouted again: ”Take that thing away I tell you--I won't have it here!”

The captain seized his lanyard, trained his piece and the big black lips roared.

With a scream of terror the woman covered her ears, rushed inside and slammed the door. They found her torn and mangled body there after the battle. An answering sh.e.l.l had crashed through the roof and exploded.

Sherman's men, standing in the woods before the stone bridge waiting orders, saw the white and blue fog of battle rise above the tree tops and felt the earth tremble beneath their feet.

And then came to John's ears the first full crash of musketry fire in close deadly range. As company, regiment and brigade joined in volley after volley, it was like the sound of the continuous ripping of heavy canvas, magnified on the scale of a thousand. As the storm cloud swept over the smoke-choked field the rattle of musketry sounded as if an angry G.o.d rode somewhere in their fiery depths, and with giant hand was ripping the heavens open!