Wide Awake Newsletter

January 11, 1863
Washington City
Abigail Elizabeth (A.E.) Reynolds
War Correspondent
New York World
News in Washington at the War Department is once again most disturbing, and at the same time most hopeful. Major General Ambrose Burnside has been replaced by Major General Joseph “Fighting Joe” Hooker, following General Burnside’s defeat at Fredericksburg.
The Union Army, under the command of General Burnside, suffered horrendous casualties in futile frontal assaults on December 13, 1862 against entrenched Confederate defenders on the heights behind the city, bringing to an early end their campaign against the Confederate capital of Richmond. The Union Army has once again pulled back to position themselves for a future assault, this time with yet another new commander.
General Joseph Hooker has been described as a man of great courage and fortitude and somewhat questionable morals. However, General Hooker promises that he will refit the Army of the Potomac and move aggressively against General Robert E. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia at his most opportune appointment.
Can this, yet another change in the command structure of the North provide the necessary will and conviction to bring about the end of this terrible conflict? Only time will tell.
General Lee and his lieutenants have also vowed to end this terrible atrocity with the defeat of the Union Army. According to sources, the victory at Fredericksburg has given them the impetus to advance once again against Union forces, possibly moving into Maryland or Pennsylvania as early as May.
General Hooker has already issued orders to refit his army and to prepare to march into Virginia as early as April, thus cutting of Lee and his men from advancing further. General Hooker is hopeful of removing Lee from his entrenched position around Fredericksburg Virginia, forcing the gray fox to retreat. The Union General states he will eventually win the day, and the war, with a Union victory in Richmond.
As General Hooker continues his plan, the War Department will do everything in its power to insure a Union victory at this most crucial time in the war. Another Union defeat such as recently suffered in Fredericksburg, and as well as the Union stalemate at Antietam Creek near Sharpsburg Maryland this past fall, would likely lead to a Confederate victory of the entire war. This would undoubtedly end not only the present fighting, but all hopes of forever preserving the Union.

The New York World
An editorial by
Abigail Elizabeth Reynolds
War Correspondent
June 3, 1863

I had the privilege last month of attending the Association of New York Clergy Prayer Breakfast at the Metropolitan Methodist Church on 44th Street, NW. In attendance were a number of distinguished pastors, ministers, priest, and theologians. Several of the guests made reference to the Children of Israel wandering in the desert for forty years after being led out of the bondage of Egypt, before arriving at the Promised Land. Others referenced the forty days and nights of rain upon the land in the story of Noah and the Ark.

After the meeting, I queried a couple of the theologians on the meaning of these passages, why they were referenced and did the number forty have any significance in the scriptures. I was told that these particular passages had significance in the sense of the current struggles of the nation to define itself. Further, they have significance in the fight for freedom against slavery. The Negro looks to God as the great deliver, just as the children of Israel looked to God for deliverance from the tyranny of Pharaoh. The number forty holds significance in that God takes “as long as necessary” to accomplish His will. Forty in the Bible means literally “as long as it takes”.

The great struggle we are currently in seems to be taking, to some, longer than necessary. To others, the conflict is still in its infancy. The reasons for the conflict are also as varied and many as are the opinions of the conflict itself. The one question, though, that is always on the lips of those we encounter is, “How much longer will the fighting go on?” There, of course, is no simple or reasonable answer to this question. We know that it will go on, and that it will take as long as it takes. Forty years? Forty days? No one has that answer. Or perhaps we do.

The current administration in Washington City has made it clear that the current policy is to pursue an end to this war only after the Confederacy has been totally destroyed and the southern states have reunited as part of the Union. According to Mr. Lincoln, there will be no peace until the south lays down its arms. But what are the costs, the price, and the profit of such a policy? What would the cost, price and profit be of a different policy?

Let us look briefly at the cost. So far, we have seen a number of significant defeats of the Union forces. To
date, over 400,000 men, both from the North and South are dead. The rights and civil liberties of the citizens of both the North and South have been eroded, perhaps never to be reclaimed in the future, following the end of these current atrocities. Bankers, financiers, and politicians appear to making a sizable profit through this war on both sides, while the middle class and poor appear to be losing ground economically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Civil Liberties, once believed to be sacred and protected, have been eroded. The writ of Habeas Corpus has been suspended in order to quiet those in dissension with the current Washington Administration. Anyone seen remotely as “sympathetic” to the southern cause is immediately imprisoned without reason, without recourse, without expeditious hearings, without representation.

The draft has been imposed, forcing the working class into the fight, while the wealthy are able to “buy off” their sons’ service for Three Hundred Dollars, sending instead the poor to fight in their place.

The press is constantly under scrutiny and slander by the Washington elite, who wish that only materials from the “minister of propaganda” were allowed to be published, while the first amendment is trampled under foot, editors and reporters are accused of spying and unpatriotic sympathy, if anything of the truth is published which goes against the current sentiments of the Administration.

War atrocities occur daily, as homes and communities are burned, supplies and stores are raided, consumed or destroyed, civilians are treated as soldiers, shot, arrested, beaten, children are left fatherless and in many cases, motherless as well. Orphanages are being formed daily and, even then, are bulging at their very seams with the unwanted and abandoned children who are the real victims in this war.

The rich continue to become rich at the expense of the poor. The factories of the North and their owners are increasingly more powerful, wealthier and more wasteful of the human spirit, as well as the daily commodities needed for survival, let alone prosperity.

The South is ever more isolated from the world, and the North, leaving little promise of a brighter tomorrow. England and France, to date, have agreed to remain neutral and stay out of the conflict, thus further isolating the South. The blockades of the Union Navy have totally disrupted the trade and commerce of the South, leaving it with no way to expeditiously sell its cotton and other commodities, leaving the South virtually bankrupt in its need to fund the war machine. Some say this is a good thing. But is it? What will the ultimate cost be when peace is restored? And will there ever be peace?

I believe there will peace again and the Union will be preserved, just as Mr Lincoln and his cabinet has designed, unless there is a change in the Administration next year. The war will continue as long as it is able to be profitable to the banks, the factory owners and the politicians. When there are no more profits to be made, the North will sue for peace.

The reality is that the War Machine of the North is far superior to that of the South. Prior to the war, I had the opportunity to travel extensively throughout the south and I can tell you this: there are no significant factories in the south. Without factories, there can be no manufacturing of weapons and other necessities for war. Since the war, and as recent as April of this year, my travels into the south proved once again the lack of resources needed to sustain a lengthy war.

I saw soldiers who were barefoot and dressed in rags. I saw farms, homes, entire communities is disarray, devastated by the presence of both armies. I saw wounded without medical care, suffering and dying. I saw homeless mothers and their children, begging for any piece of food that may be available. I saw the elderly, waiting for their turn to enter into the “promised land”. I saw the Negro, still praying and hoping for the coming of the Jubilee and the Deliverance of Father Abraham. I saw fear, hopelessness and devastation on the faces of many. I also saw arrogant pride and sense of honor to the homeland and a fierce determination to fight on, “as long as it takes”.

If there is no change in Washington City next election year, the War will come to an end. The Union will be reunited, the south destroyed. The rich will become richer off the sufferings of those who will have lost everything they had worked generations for.

When will the end come? I do not know. But it will come. It will come because the resources of the North are endless, compared to those of the South. The War Machine in the North continues to grow while the few resources of the South dwindle away, irreplaceable due to the blockades.

The pain and suffering will continue as long as profits can be made, as long as political agendas can be realized, as long as people are willing to do whatever their government demands of them.

This war really is not about states rights, or slavery, or even about the preservation of the Union. This war is ultimately about Greed in the North and misinformed Honor, Loyalty and Pride in the South.

The one remaining right that each of us has is the right to vote. Next year, we will be asked to cast our vote for one of two candidates for the Presidency of the United States. It is a precious thing, our vote. In this nation, the people have the right to decide who will lead us, who will establish the policies that will guide us into the future, who will best represent the interests of all the people, not just the wealthy, or the political. It is not too early to begin thinking who will best deserve your vote. For, whoever is elected to the Presidency of the United States will determine the final outcome of this war and the future of the South.

It is my desire, and I believe the desire of most Americans, to see the end of this war come quickly. I believe it is also the desire of the people of this land, in both the North and the South to see the government once again be about the people. It is to be a government “of the people, for the people and by the people…” And it is time for that government to be restored. It is time for the greedy of the North to acknowledge they have enough wealth at the expense of the common man, and it is time for the prideful of the South to humble themselves and seek a peaceful solution to the present conflict.

As a theologian friend of mine stated recently, “What does God require of thee O man, but to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with thy God?” It seems as if this would be a good place to start on the journey towards healing.

Robert A. Mosher
(Charles Carleton,
The Boston Journal)

-----Original Message-----

REVIEW:

H-NET BOOK REVIEW
Published by H-CivWar@h-net.msu.edu (June 2008)

J. G. Lewin and P. J. Huff. _Lines of Contention: Political Cartoons of the
Civil War_. New York: HarperCollins, 2008. xi + 212 pp. Illustrations,
appendices, bibliography, index. $19.95 (paper), ISBN 0-06-113788-X.

Reviewed for H-CivWar by Robert Cook, Department of American Studies,
University of Sussex

Cartoon Carnage

In his promotional comments of this book, Daryl Cagle, a professional
cartoonist, contends that "_Lines of Contention_ gives a great picture of
the Civil War through the lens of the cartoonists. There is no better way to
understand the attitudes of a divided nation than through cartoons" (back
cover). This is quite a claim. Ninety-seven political cartoons of the Civil
War era, most of them published between 1860 and 1865, are reprinted here.
Drawn mainly from _Frank Leslie's Illustrated Magazine_, _Harper's Weekly_,
_Punch_, and _Vanity Fair_, they also include a smattering of other images
from sources as diverse as the short-lived Republican campaign sheet, _The
Rail Splitter_, and patriotic envelopes of the day. The artists range from
well-known illustrators, such as Thomas Nast and Sir John Tenniel, to the
obscure Baltimore copperhead, Adalbert J. Volck. Topics authors J. G. Lewin
and P. J. Huff cover include the 1860 and 1864 presidential election
contests, the secession crisis, Abraham Lincoln's revocation of John C.
Fremont's emancipation edict, the Trent affair, sundry military events, the
New York City draft riots, and Lincoln's assassination. There are,
unfortunately, no prints from Reconstruction.

Some of these cartoons will be well known to specialists of the Civil War.
Among them are Nast's brilliant renderings of the consequences of a George
B. McClellan victory in 1864, in which a disabled, humiliated Union veteran
reluctantly shakes hands with a haughty Confederate over a gravestone marked
"In Memory of the Union Dead Who Fell in a Useless War," and the dark
depiction of Jefferson Davis in _Harper's Weekly_ as the grim reaper
harvesting the bones of America's war dead. Others, however, may be less
familiar. This reviewer, certainly, had never seen the envelope illustration
of Davis as a cunning fox carrying off geese marked "Virginia" and
"Tennessee" in the aftermath of Fort Sumter, or Volck's chilling vision of
Lincoln as a jester in "The Comedy of Death."

As these examples suggest, humor was often in short supply during the war
years. Many images, however, draw real power from their satirical bite, not
least the merciless lampoons of James Buchanan or the risqué depiction of a
federal tax collector peering under a woman's stays for items bearing duty.
Buchanan, seemingly powerless in the face of secession, features heavily at
the start of this collection, depicted variously as an old Irish housemaid
on the verge of dismissal; an aloof father unimpressed with the actions of
his son, "Bobby" Anderson; and an incompetent cowboy unable to master the
bucking bronco, South Carolina.

There are numerous images of Lincoln. Many demonstrate perfectly the great
cartoonists' abilities to pass comment on complex issues and events with the
simplest of drawings. One arresting illustration, from _Frank Leslie's
Illustrated Magazine_ at the time Lincoln revoked Fremont's emancipation
edict in Missouri, depicts the president clinging onto a life raft marked
"Union" while pushing a drowning slave beneath the waves of a stormy sea.
Several Lincoln images are broadly positive, deepening our awareness of the
contributions some cartoonists made to his burgeoning grassroots popularity.
Others, however, emphasize that the president was not always held in high
regard during the war. The angry figure of Columbia pointing accusingly at
Lincoln (who can only respond with a pathetic offer of folksy humor) speaks
for hundreds of thousands of angry Northerners after the Union debacle at
Fredericksburg.

While the authors are to be commended for making available a treasure trove
of political cartoons that will be of use to all teachers of the Civil War,
it is unfortunate that their accompanying text is generally simplistic and
lacking in analytical penetration. The fact that the book has been designed
for the mass market is no excuse for the vapid chapter introductions that
are hampered by a superficial grasp of historical scholarship or for the
many individual commentaries inattentive to the nuances of the images to
which they are attached. The authors' commitment to an outdated paradigm is
evident from the start in their contention that "Slavery was an abomination,
according to the abolitionists in the North. Preachers throughout New
England, the Mid-Atlantic region, and the new western states railed against
it and demanded that it end. So it ended in those states. But that wasn't
enough for them. Slavery needed to be abolished every-where and for all
time" (p. 4). The superficial quality of the commentary is clearest in a
depiction of a cartoon of two disabled Union veterans--one black, the other
white--shaking hands, which is reprinted without any observation of the
degree to which concepts of loyalty reconfigured race relations in the
wartime North. Worryingly, too, there are plenty of elementary mistakes.
States are confused with territories in a botched definition of popular
sovereignty. The description of Steven Douglas as "a staunch believer in
democracy" is an alarming way to describe a racist demagogue (p. 41). Fort
Donelson is misspelled as Fort Donaldson. And, even Adalbert is rendered
"Aldabert" (pp. 65, 130).

This is a serviceable book, but had the authors, evidently nonspecialists,
immersed themselves more deeply in current historiography, they would have
written a much better one. How did readers respond to these images? What was
the relationship between the cartoons and the fierce partisan conflicts of
the era? How did the prints influence changing white attitudes to blacks in
the 1860s? Unfortunately, these are important questions that Lewin and Huff
do not ask, let alone provide answers. As for Cagle's outspoken claim for
the explanatory significance of Civil War cartoons, one is bound to observe
that virtually all of these images were produced in the North or Great
Britain. Presumably, historians will have to look elsewhere to understand
the Confederate side of the story.

Copyright (c) 2008 by H-Net, all rights reserved. H-Net permits
the redistribution and reprinting of this work for nonprofit,
educational purposes, with full and accurate attribution to the
author, web location, date of publication, originating list, and
H-Net: Humanities & Social Sciences Online. For other uses
contact the Reviews editorial staff: hbooks@mail.h-net.msu.edu.

September 19, 1862
Sharpsburg, Maryland
Abigail Elizabeth (A.E.) Reynolds
Field Reporter
New York World

Sharpsburg –

September 17, 1862, may be recorded as one of the bloodiest days in the history of this Nation. Opposing forces engaged in the fields, woods and mountainsides of this rural, southern Maryland soil, located just a few miles from the Virginia border, north of the Potomac River. It is estimated that over 20,000 men, in both gray and blue, lie dead in the heat of the day. Many a young man shall never again see the faces of home. Many have lost their innocence this day. Many a boy has suddenly and unexpectedly become a man. Many a wife has become a widow, many a mother will sit in excruciating grief, and many a child will become an orphan, never to be held in the loving arms of a father again.

The following report is filed by this reporter, as witnessed, first hand, on the day of this bloody atrocity near a creek called Antietam.

The Union Army, under the command of General George McClellan, engaged the Southern Army, commanded by Robert E Lee, on the outskirts of Sharpsburg, Maryland, near Antietam Creek. Under the clear, sun filled fall sky, the two armies clashed in the most horrific and thunderous manner, set upon the task of destroying, nay, annihilating one another, thus bringing to an end this terrible conflict of hatred.

A few days earlier, I had the opportunity to engage General Ambrose Burnside. He said that as soon as the Army caught up with General Lee, the conflict would be over, and the men of his command would find themselves home for Christmas. This day would find General Ambrose’ Division almost destroyed under the heavy barrage of Confederate Cannon fire, under the command of A. P. Hill, CSA.

Early on the morning of September 17, 1862, General Joseph Hooker, USA, launched an attack on General Lee’s left flank. The fighting was immense, with attacks and counter attacks on both sides. The Confederates eventually made a stand at the Sunken Road, and seemed to hold for some time. The Union forces eventually broke through the Confederate lines and the forces under Lee had to withdraw.

General Burnside launched an attack near the bridge at Antietam Creek and was initially successful, but with General A. P. Hill’s counter attack, was driven back. Hill reclaimed the real estate briefly commanded and controlled by Burnside.

I found myself pinned under protective cover at the sunken road, along side Alfred Waud, artist for Harpers Weekly, as we were reporting the events at the time. Both Mister Waud and myself were a mere 10 feet from the Confederate right flank.

The Union encountered the Confederates in the afternoon sun at the Sunken Road, now called by the soldiers of both forces as “Bloody Lane”. Hostility and death poured forth from both sides. Men in Blue stood only a few yards away from the men in Gray, as volleys of hot fire poured in from both sides, ending the life of many good men. Casualties were such that the blood of the fallen flowed like a river through this narrow patch of ground.

It appeared for a brief period that the Confederates had won the day, as the Union forces advanced and then retreated, repeating this action several times. As men were carried off the field of battle, Confederate sharpshooters took careful aim at the ones tendering aid to their fallen comrades, thus mortally wounding the soldier, leaving the rescuer and the rescued fallen, rendering both men incapable of continuing the fight. This barbaric action would be carried out over and over by both armies.

With each fallen Union soldier, Confederate yells and cheers were heard, sending chills down the spine of this reporter. The hatred of the men from the south towards the north was never more prevalent than on this day. It could be seen in their faces, upon their posture, and in the very tone of their voices.

The fire power from both sides seemed to go on for eternity, its power of destruction relentless, as thousand from both North and South lay dead and rotting under the sun. The smell of sulfur in the air could only be compared to that which Dante writes in his “Inferno”. Hell itself can not be more hideous than the sights of this day’s action.

Camp followers, women who stayed with their husbands or sons, stood helplessly by as the screams from the “field of glory” rose into the noonday air. Their cries only barely heard above the sounds of battle, carried towards the heavens in desperation, asking only for mercy.

This reporter gained advantage to the devastation from the side of the Confederate forces. I was so close to the fighting, that several balls of fire screamed past my ear, one penetrating the very hat upon my head. I have experienced and witnessed conflict and fighting before, but nothing of this magnitude.

It seemed after two major assaults by Union forces against the Confederate position had been repelled, that the fighting had ended, but a third Union assault began almost as suddenly as the previous one had ended. “How could this level if intense fighting continue?” was my thought. “How can this go on? How many more innocent lives shall be destroyed this day?”

This third assault seemed as if it was a desperate action by General McClellan’s forces. It was a third attempt to move the Confederates from this vantage point, where so many had already died. As I lay just 20 feet from the nearest Confederate soldier on the right flank, the desperation of both sides, the Union to overtake the Confederates, and the Confederates to hold back the Union, was abundantly evident.

Soldiers were falling faster than before. I found myself stained with the blood and flesh of the closest soldiers as balls of destruction easily sliced through their frail and vulnerable bodies of flesh and blood. Soldiers once filled with dignity, hope, adventure, optimism, desire, love, now lay dead and lifeless, dreams once held close and dear, now dashed and forgotten. The air, once filled with the fragrance of autumn’s harvest and warm, sun filled days, now was filled with the smell of death, sulfur, suffering, and cries of agony and defeat. Smoke, not from kitchen fires preparing the meals for the workers, or the canning fires of the harvest, but smoke from decaying carnage, cannon and musket fire, now filled every nostril within miles of this horrific place.

The Confederate Army finally yielded this ground as the Union forces seemed to overwhelm the day. The Union Army was victorious in men and fire power to overtake the disadvantaged forces of Robert E. Lee. Out numbered nearly two to one, the Confederates this day held as long as possible, but in the end, were able to only deliver a devastating and critical blow to General McClellan’s Army, not total defeat.

September 18, saw more action by both sides, as skirmishes between the Union Armies and Lee’s retreating Armies took place. Robert E. Lee has begun to withdraw his troops to the south, across the Potomac and back into Northern Virginia. The question remains, will General McClellan advance his entire Army at this time and pursue Lee to try and bring and quick end to this horrific conflict, or will “Lil’ Mac” hold back, allowing Lee to regroup and refit his Army for future action against the North?

September 20, 1862
Sharpsburg Maryland
Abigail Elizabeth (A.E.) Reynolds
Field Reporter
New York World

I have already sent the initial report of the Battle at Antietam Creek, near Sharpsburg Maryland. This is a supplement to that report. As I have already reported, General Burnside reported that he believed this would be the decisive battle and end the conflict once and for all. With nearly 20,000 dead, it would seem that this has not happened. General Burnside suffered immense losses and defeat to General A.P. Hill.

It would also seem that General McClellan has no desire to pursue General Lee into Virginia at this time, claiming he has lost a third of his Army on this blood drenched ground.

Prior to the start of this action, I was able to visit with some of the union troops and I met some of the young men who serve as the “drummer boys” for the units. These brave lads, who do not carry weapons, but only their drums, are some of the bravest I have ever met. They stand at their post, giving with great accuracy the commands that can only be heard through their beats and tempo upon the instruments of war they gallantly carry. Leading the armies into battle, initially at the head of the columns, along side the officers, they count off the cadence of step. Then, at the appropriate time, they change their tempos to reflect a new command: attack, retreat, left flank, right flank, and so on. The yells of the commanders cannot be heard over the cries of other men and the sounds of fire power, but these drums can and are heard. The men in rank and file, rely on this means of communicating commands to coordinate their actions. By their presence and exposure, these lads are often the target of snipers and sharpshooters, and many have already fallen.

I met a young lad from the 14th NY. He was proudly dressed in his uniform and carrying his drum. He had not yet seen the elephant. This was his first battle. I asked him if he was afraid. He said no, his mother had given him a medal to carry that was supposed to protect him from harm and danger. He said he knew his job and would be alright in the end. His commander had promised him that he would be near him and safe as well. After the battles end, I was walking through the fields of death, and found him face down in the dirt. He had been killed, I was told, during the second assault on the sunken road. His small, frail body already bloated, he was holding in his right hand the metal his mother had given him. His legs were missing, and his Captain’s body lay next to him, with a large hole which his chest once occupied. I was told that a cannon shell exploded very near them, killing the officer instantly and mortally wounding the young drummer boy. I learned his name was Samuel Axelrod from Brooklyn, New York. His mother and father are still at home. I will send a letter with the metal his mother gave him for protection and a lock of his hair to them as soon as I am able. Sam, as he was called, is now out of harm’s way, safe in the arms of God. May he rest in peace from this day forward.

The women who follow.

It seemed as if hundreds of women; wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, stood helplessly by, watching and waiting, hoping, praying, longing for word of a loved one on the field of battle. Many were standing, with terror in their eyes and tears streaming down their dirt stained faces, hoping their men would return unharmed in physical and mental stature. Laura Scott and her eight year old daughter, Katherine, had traveled from Pennsylvania, in hopes of catching a glimpse of their husband and father. They found him in a hospital tent, suffering from wounds and amputation, not sure whether he would live or die.

I met Nicholas, age five, and Abigail, age eight, along a fence row where they were told to wait for their mother and father. They had been there four days now with nothing left to eat and little water. I was told their parents were with a Pennsylvania unit and that they were sure their parents would be back for them soon. Alfred Waud of Harpers Weekly helped me take them to a shelter. They are no doubt left as orphans from this horrific encounter of forces set upon the destruction of one another.

Jennie Bush and her daughter, seven year old Emma, were waiting for their husband and father. There was no word. Jennie works as a wash woman for the New York unit for which her husband is a Sergeant. Jennie tells me that they are refugees. The fled from Harpers Ferry, Virginia, at the start of hostilities to her parents home in New York, hoping to avoid the coming conflict. Her husband, however, decided to join the Union Army. She feels she can not go home to Harpers Ferry, and she has no funds to return home to New York.

A side note: As I was walking with Alfred Waud, we came upon two Union soldiers who were killed. As we looked upon them, it became evident that these were indeed women, dressed as men, in blue, Union uniforms. We had heard that this was occurring, but at last I have seen it for myself. I do not know who they were or where they came from, and we could find no information upon their persons or in their possessions. They will become part of the unknown dead at Antietam.

BOHEMIAN BRIGADE. The term " Bohemian Brigade" was invoked half seriously by members of the Northern press to describe themselves during the American Civil War. Many reveled in a "nomadic, careless, half-literary" lifestyle. In the 1850s and early 1860s the Bohemian movement was transported to America from Paris. So-called Bohemians met in coffee house to discuss art, politics and drink wine. Many of the era's newspaper reporters an artists of the illustrated weeklies were drawn to spots such as Pfaff''s Café in New York where they could rub shoulders with prominent literary figures like Walt Whitman
and William Dean Howells. By the time of the Civil War the term was used in reference to the Northern war reporters, particularly from New York City.

Correspondent Junius Browne defined a Bohemian as a person "of aesthetic and luxurious tastes, born out of place, and in opposition to his circumstances."

REFERENCES: Joesph J. Matthews, Reporting the Wars, 1957; Louis M. Starr Bohemian Brigade. 1954.

Army Movements in Virginia, Cavalry Battles Ensue
New York Herald Correspondent Mortally Injured

27 June 1863, Aldie, Virginia

The Rappahannock River of Virginia has remained the front line for the Army of the Potomac since the end of the fighting in May at Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg. The two great armies remain quiet but watchful across that river that separates them, though the war continues to trouble other areas of the Old Dominion. West of Washington city, beyond the old battlefields of the same name, Virginia’s Bull Run Mountains lay in the heart of an area known to some as “Mosby’s Confederacy,” in deference to the Rebel partisan commander whose nocturnal activities so close to the capitol city compel the army to place troops here to protect pro-Union residents as they go about their daily lives.

On June 20, General Kilpatrick’s division of cavalry was in this same area seeking out General Stuart who was reported to have entered the region in an apparent search for forage and better ground for his Rebel cavalry. Our own cavalry was supported in the clashes that followed by General Vincent’s brigade of Union infantry. The Union forces were able to force the Rebels beyond the Bull Run Mountains following a series of spirited engagements. One of these took place at Middleburg, Virginia on June 21st. Union forces drove the Confederates for thirteen miles and then went into camp at the close of the day's operations near Upperville.

My visit to the small hamlet of Aldie was prompted by the sad news of the death of a colleague from the New York Herald. With General Kilpatrick and his Cavalry division during their battles was L. W. Buckingham, Chief Cavalry Correspondent of The New York Herald. Mr. Buckingham replaced Mr. Bulkley who was previously made captive by the rebel partisan leader Mosby, in spite his status as a civilian journalist. Mr. Buckingham’s family is not unknown to the readers of this newspaper or to the broader population of the city of Boston.

On the day following the cavalry engagements, Mr. Buckingham was returning to Washington city with the intention of filing his dispatches with his newspaper. About two and one-half miles east of Aldie, he was waylaid by a band of horsemen, believed to be a part of Mosby’s band. Mr. Buckingham’s horse wheeled around as the first shots were fired at him and then ran away with its rider desperately holding on. In its apparently panic-stricken flight, the horse stumbled in some loose stones and its rider was thrown headlong to the ground. Soldiers of the 16th Michigan of General Vincent’s brigade manning a picket line observed the incident and came to Mr. Buckingham’s assistance, carrying him to the Army hospital that has been established at the small red brick church in Aldie. There Surgeon Raugh reports that he had suffered a severe fractured skull and that there was little that could be done for him. Mr. Buckingham died during the night and was buried near the church by his friend and colleague, Mr. Alfred Waud, of Harper’s Weekly. The Boston Journal, on behalf of this well-known Boston family, asked this correspondent to report to them on the location of the gravesite and the possibilities for arranging to return his remains to Boston for permanent burial there.

At the time of my visit to Aldie, the hamlet, the hospital, and the surrounding area were within the picket lines manned by the 83rd Pennslvania Infantry. They were supported by sharpshooters from the 16th Michigan. This latter regiment was organized at Detroit and mustered into service September 8, 1861. In 1862, the regiment was joined by another company recruited in Detroit and designated as the First Independent Company of Sharpshooters. During my visit, members of the 83rd Pennsylvania and their attached company of sharpshooters demonstrated for me what is called in French, ‘la petit guerre,’ that small war of outposts, picket lines, and skirmishes that make up this little war against Rebel forces. It is the responsibility of the pickets to prevent any sizeable Rebel force from surprising the army and to prevent Rebel scouts from learning the size and nature and possible the intentions of the Union forces protected by the picket line.

During the afternoon hours, a small party of Rebels approached the picket line afoot, perhaps thinking that the afternoon heat would have made our soldiers drowsy. Whether they sought information about our forces or simply were out in search of food and forage for their own troops can not be known. However, the Union pickets having concealed themselves in the brush and light woods surrounding Aldie, observed the approaching band and in accordance with military protocol challenged them to identify themselves. The reply was a small fusillade of shots that alerted the picket line’s reserve that something was afoot. Captain Owens ordered the reserve forward to support the pickets as he tried to determine the size and nature of the Rebel force and your correspondent moved forward with the reserve to seek a vantage point from which to observe the impending engagement. In fact the Rebels gave ground as we moved forward out of the trees and brush that had hidden our pickets. As the Union soldiers dispersed into a skirmish line while advancing, the Rebels fired only a few shots before beginning a slow retreat towards the woods from which they themselves had emerged only minutes before. Two Union soldiers were lightly wounded but able to leave the field without assistance to seek the aid of Hospital Steward Briggs who had advanced from the hospital upon hearing the firing. The sharpshooters commanded by Captain Mordin who accompanied the pickets were able to return payment in kind upon the Rebels as they retreated.

As the line moved forward, your correspondent remarked upon the emergence from the trees to his left of a small band of four or five mounted men advancing upon the left and almost the rear of the advancing Union line. Their non-uniform garb left it unclear whether they were in fact Confederate cavalry or merely members of Mosby’s band of partisans. In either instance, even such a small mounted group represented a threat to our small band of skirmishers now in open ground devoid of any cover or place of concealment. Fortunately, the band soon turned back into the trees having apparently observed the appearance of a detachment of the 1st Maine Cavalry over the rolling hillside opposite, their alert presence checkmating any possible venture forward by the Rebels. Thus, the afternoon’s ‘battle’ ended and the Michigan and Pennslyvania men returned to their posts concealed from both the sun and any other unfriendly eyes that may have remained in the area. Despite the small size of the Rebel force that showed itself, there are other indications that a larger Rebel force lays behind the mountains and may be preparing to again seek battle in order to drive the Union Army at least back to the gates of Washington if not out of Virginia. Carleton.

May 28, 1862, Gettysburg, PA

REPORTERS ARRESTED, TRIED AS SPIES

Abigail Reynolds and Carol Rowe, both reporters of the New York World, were arrested late last week and charged with passing information to the enemy in the South. An expedited military tribunal was set in motion in which formal charges were presented to the military court in Gettysburg. The court, under the care of local Judge Joseph Kerrigan, heard charges of conspiracy to assist the enemy though the relaying of military information through the reporting efforts of both reporters. Presenting the charges to Judge Kerrigan was Col. Roy Smith of the Washington War Department.

Col Smith argued that both reporters had relayed vital military information to the Confederacy by placing misleading and bogus articles relating to certain social engagements that were code for military movements. In addition, Col Smith informed the court that these reporters also visited the south on several occasions, using their press pass and credentials to move freely across enemy lines to take information to several Confederate Generals, particularly Gen. Peter Longstreet and Gen. Thomas Jackson. Gen. J.E.B. Stuart supposedly also benefited from the information supplied.

As part of his argument, Col Smith presented the courts with detailed articles published in the New York World as well as several Pennsylvania and Maryland papers with their by line, and demonstrated how these articles were indeed in code.

Miss Reynolds and Mrs Rowe argued that they had only written articles of fact and that there was no code, secret or otherwise in the written materials. They also gave testimony that they were in full compliance and within their rights to report the news and that if those in Washington City and elsewhere wanted to read more into their articles than was there, they could do so at the peril of the reader, not the author.

After short deliberation by a panel of military officers, the recommendation by the panel to the judge came and stated that the women were reportedly to be detained for the duration of the war in a federal prison located in Washington City.

However, in a last minute development, a Pinkerton Agent stepped forth to give new insights to the particulars of this case. Judge Kerrigan allowed for the new evidence to be presented before passing sentencing.

The Pinkerton Agent stated that Col Smith has been under investigation for certain irregularities in the War Department and found Col Smith to have plotted the discredit of several members of the Army. The plot was designed to disrupt the command structure of the Army of the Potomac to give the Confederacy the upper hand in logistics. It was also revealed that Col Smith was in the process of forming a plan and recruiting various members of the General staff to assassinate President Abraham Lincoln. Further, the Agent reported that both Miss Reynolds, second cousin to General John Reynolds, and Mrs. Rowe, also a distance relative of the General, were in fact working to assist the Pinkerton Agency in the performance of their duties in uncovering this plot. When both reporters were asked why they did not reveal any of this during the trial, they offered the explanation that they did not wish to disrupt the Pinkerton investigation and that if imprisoned, they knew it would only be a matter of time before they would have been freed and vindicated by the Pinkerton Agency.

At this report, the tribunal offered their apologies to the reporters and freed them. Col Smith was immediately taken into custody and later attempted to escape. During this attempt, he was mortally shot by guards. The investigation continues to determine who else, if anyone may be involved in this plot.

Well, I got to go to my first event for a while (Heritage Village here in Cincinnati). I had almost forgotten how fun it is being a Special Artist. Mr. Lovie spent a good deal of my time at the Village print shop displaying my new skills of wood engraving and Stone Lithography. I'll send along some samples at the end of the week. Like many others I hope to make this at least a self supporting hobby. Things have changed at work and I'm only Mr. Lovie about twice a month. I am still researching this elusive character. A quick bio for those interested. Born 1831 in Berlin, Prussia. Died unknown location spring of 1875. First US records marriage to Irish born Margaret Mary Richie 1852 Cincinnati. First work for Leslie's Nov 1860, sketching Pres elect Lincoln and his home and business haunts in Springfield. Left Cincinnati for Philly about 1868, then New York about 1872. A Feb 1863 Leslie's has some self portraits (from a distance) of his adventures in KY. He was a strapping dark haired 6 footer, hope he forgives my squat strawberry blond portrayal. Until Later, Take care, Shawn

March 4, 2007 Gettysburg, PA
Reenactors Appreciation Weekend

By Field Reporter Abigail Reynolds, for The New York World

The 19th Century was once again alive with the excitement of war heroes home from the front and the winter campaigns far away in the south. Gettysburg was again the site of a great reunion of those brave men and their ladies of both the north and south as they gathered together to share in a weekend of fun, food, dance and plain, old fashioned merriment before heading off to re-engage one another on the field of honor.

Gettysburg saw the famous and infamous as well as the everyday soldier performing his duty with honor, dignity and integrity. Such well known faces as Grant, Lee, Longstreet, Chamberlain, Custer, and scores of others, as well as President Lincoln, President Davis, and former President Buchanan were present for speeches and interviews. All were most gracious to this reporter, with the exception of Grant, who believes that all reporters are nothing more than spies for the south and states that he feels they should all be imprisoned and/or shot. He further stated that the papers report his troop movements even before he knows where they are going.

The press was, however, privy to a discussion between Lincoln and Grant, at the President’s invitation, to discuss the upcoming “wilderness campaign”. At the time of this press, I am not at liberty to share what exactly was discussed, only to say that it will be a glorious expedition on the part of Grant and will ensure his place in history as either one of the greatest generals of all time, should he be successful, or as one of the greatest failures and incompetent leaders, should he fail.

Throughout the weekend, the fine citizens of Gettysburg warmly opened their businesses and homes to the many visitors, and showed the greatest of hospitality. Gettysburg may be a Union community, but southern hospitality was abundantly evident. Two grand balls were made possible and opened freely to the visitors to enjoy the fine music and dancing. Soldiers in their finest dress uniforms and the ladies in their extravagant gowns gave no indication of the battles past or to come. All appeared to be in the finest of gaiety and joyful spirit.

Cigars (captured southern tobacco) and Brandy flowed freely at one of the local establishments known to the locals as Spiritfields Pub and Eatery. Bar-B-Q specials were available at Patriot Point and great sessions among commanding officers in strategic planning for the coming campaigns were held throughout the town.

This reporter has been informed that this shall be an annual event and is indeed worth the attention and participation of all. I shall be back next year, if all goes as expected. I will, however, be watchful on the field of battle this year not to come too close to Gen Grant or his officers, as I do not wish to be arrested, imprisoned, or even possibly shot by a press-bigoted, unreasonable, and burly specimen of a man such as the good General.

Bohemians, or "gypsies", are inhabitants of Bohemia, in the Czech Republic. The term used to designate inhabitants of the former Kingdom of Bohemia, located in the modern day Czech Republic. The name derives from the Latin term for the Celtic tribe inhabiting that area, the Boii, who were called Boiohaemum in the early Middle Ages. The word "Bohemians" was never used by the local Czech population. In Czech, the region was since early Middle Ages called only "?echy" (Bohemia) or "Království ?eské" (Kingdom of Bohemia), and its mainly Czech-speaking inhabitants were called "?e?i".
In other European vernaculars and in Latin (as Bohemi), the word "Bohemian" or a derivate was used to designate all inhabitants of Bohemia. If the Czech ethnic origin was to be stressed, combinations like "Bohemian of Bohemian language", "a real Bohemian" etc. were used.
The term "Bohemian" was often used to describe the inhabitants of the Austrian Empire's province of Bohemia. This could include a number of ethnicities, including Germans (including Austrians), Czechs, Roma, Poles, Hungarians, and Slovaks.
It was not until the 19th century that other European languages began to use the word "Czechs" (in English ? Tschechen in German, tchèques in French) in a deliberate (and successful) attempt to distinguish between ethnic Czechs and other inhabitants of Bohemia. Currently, "Bohemians" is still used when there is need to distinguish between inhabitants of the western part of the Czech Republic (Bohemia) and the eastern part (Moravia).
Its secondary meaning (see Bohemianism) comes from the French word bohémien for a member of the Roma people, as the French believed for a period beginning in the fifteenth century that the Roma originated from Bohemia, because they travelled through it.[verification needed]

Modern Use of the Term

Main article: Bohemianism
In modern usage, the term "bohemian" can describe any person who lives an unconventional artistic life, where self-expression is the highest value ? that art (acting, poetry, writing, singing, dancing, painting etc) is a serious and main focus of their life. The term was applied particularly to the poets and writers of Carmel-by-the-Sea and the Bloomsbury Group in the first half of the 20th century, and, early in the 21st century, to a style of female fashion ("boho-chic").
Bohemian still carries its original usage in many parts of the United States where large groups of Bohemians immigrated.

The Boston Daily Journal
July 1861
Signed “Carleton”

Special Report from our Army Correspondent:
Army Defeated in Virginia; March on Richmond Ends;
General McDowell and Others to be Replaced

At noon, on 17 July, the troops under General McDowell took up their line of march toward Fairfax, without baggage, carrying three days’ rations in their haversacks. It was a grand pageant, the long column of bayonets and high-waving flags. The Army was at last on its way to the ending of the war.

Forming an army for the march takes time. It is done first by the companies, then by battalions, then brigades and divisions, and finally an Army emerges where once appeared only confusion. An Army is musicians – drummers and fifers, soldiers with muskets and rifles, the artillery, cavalry, officers on foot and on their mounts.

This is an army of the Union. Men from old New England and the Mid-Atlantic- the old Northwest – Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, all alongside the men of the Regular Army and the Marines.

Few of these men are professional soldiers. These are the citizen soldiers of the Republic, whose grandfathers fought for independence. Some of these soldiers may not be considered to be Americans, as they were born on other shores. Yet they too are here to fight for this Union.

There are stories to be told within the army that shows the mettle of these all of these ‘sons’ of America. When General Tyler too soon engaged the Rebels at Blackburn Ford, several days before the battle, the New York Irishmen found themselves in the Army’s second line and not seriously engaged that day. When the troops were recalled from their position they came back upon the run. The Irishmen were in the woods and could hear the tramping of feet and the noise and confusion of the retreat, but did not know what was taking place. Somebody said that the rebels were advancing to attack them. It was very amusing to see the men throw down their guns, strip off their coats, spit on their hands, as if ready to have a hand-to-hand shindy. They seized their muskets and stood with fixed bayonets to receive the enemy.

A report is circulating within the army that a woman, possibly a local resident left homeless and destitute as a consequence of the war and seemingly pressed by these circumstances, appeared within the Army’s camp to pursue a new trade as a woman of the town. However, before anyone could act upon this possibility, it is reported that she mocked the singing of some Irish soldiers gathered about the evening campfire. The sad and rapid outcome was that she found herself quickly lifted up and deposited beyond the boundaries of the camp, with the soldiers loudly warning the provosts and sentries that she not be allowed to return to the camp.

The soldiers had an amusing story to tell of one of their number, a Private Peck, who went into the lager-beer business, the sale of beer being then allowed in the days of the army’s march through Fairfax and up to Centreville. A sutler put a barrel on tap, and soon had a crowd of thirsty customers. But the head of the barrel was exposed in the rear. Private Peck spying it, soon had that end on tap, and was doing a thriving business, selling at five cents a glass from his end of the barrel. He had a constant run of custom. When the crowd had satisfied their thirst, one of the soldiers approached the sutler.
“What do you charge for a glass?” he asked.
“Ten cents.”
“Ten cents! Why, I can get just as much as I want for five.”
“Not in this camp.”
“Yes, sir, in this camp.”
“Where, I should like to know?”
“Right round here.”
The sutler crawled out from his tent to see about it, and stood transfixed with astonishement wheren he beheld the operation at the other end of his barrel. He was received with a hearty laugh, while the ingenious Private Peck who was drawing the lager had the impudence to ask him if he wouldn’t take a drink! After spending the succeeding two or three days with the Provost Marshals he returned to his regiment in time for the battle.

On July 18, as the army left it's bivouacs near Fairfax to push on to Centreville beyond, Coffin found himself standing next to Captain (later General) Hawley of Connecticut (1st Connecticut, in fact) as they regarded the Fairfax Courthouse and the Rebel flag waving over it, two Rebel cannon were in sight supported by a picket line of Rebel cavalry. Captain Hawley was commanding the Union skirmishers and was regarding the Rebel pickets when he said to a soldier, "Let me take your Sharpe's rifle.” The Captain rested it on the fence, ran his eye along the barrel, and fired. The nearest Rebel horseman, half a mile distant, slipped from his horse in an instant, and fell upon the ground. It was the first shot fired by the grand army on the march toward Manassas. The other troopers put spurs to their horses and fled towards Fairfax, where a sudden commotion was visible.

An Army is also a General with a plan and this Army had both of those. This Army began its march to the sound of drums and with flags flying and men singing. At its end the men were flying instead of singing and the drums were silent.

General McDowell’s army was in four divisions—General Tyler’s, General Hunter’s, General Heintzelman’s, and General Miles’s. One brigade of General Tyler’s and General Miles’s division was left at Centreville to make a feint of attacking the enemy at Blackburn’s and Mitchell’s Fords, and to protect the rear of the army from an attack by Generals Ewell and Jones. The other divisions of the army, five brigades, marched soon after midnight, to be ready to make the attack by sunrise on Sunday morning.

Sunday, the 21 of July began as a calm and peaceful day, a day of rest. Long before sunrise the troops of the attacking column rose from their bivouac and moved towards the west. It is sunrise as they approach the stone bridge. The troops leave the turnpike, march into a cornfield, and ascend a hill overlooking the bridge. The men follow the colors onto the field. When the time comes to fire, the colors move to the rear but remain close to the line.

Captain Ayer, who has seen fighting in Mexico, brings his guns upon the hill, wheels them into position, and sights towards the Rebel breastworks just visible on the knolls beyond. There is a flash, a puff of smoke, a screaming in the air, and then across the stream a handful of cloud bursts into view above the Rebel lines. The shell has exploded. All of Ayer’s guns are in play, hurling rifled shot and shells, which scream like an unseen demon as they fly over the cornfield, over the meadow lands, to the woods and fields beyond the stream.

There is a sudden movement of the Rebel troops. Rebel flags emerge over the ridge to our front. The Rebels do not advance with the tread of the professional soldier but with a determined steadiness. Rebel musketry heard from in front of the 79th NYSM. On our distant right can be seen the US Cavalry advancing to the right of the guns there.

Ayer’s is the first gun of the morning. And now, two miles down the Run, by Mitchell’s Ford, rolling, echoing, and reverberating through the forests, are other thunderings. The sun had just risen when Benjamin’s batteries were thundering at Blackburn’s ford, and Tyler was pressing upon the Stone Bridge.

It was past eight o’clock before the first light ripple of musketry was heard at Sudley Springs, where Burnside was turning the left flank of the Rebels. The Union troops move across the stream. General Burnside’s brigade is in the advance. The Second Rhode Island infantry is thrown out, deployed as skirmishers. The men are five paces apart. They move slowly, cautiously, and nervously through the fields and thickets.

Suddenly, from bushes, trees, and fences there is a rattle of musketry. The skirmishers of Rebel General Evans are firing. There are jets of flame and smoke and a strange humming in the air. There is another rattle, a volley. Then came the opening of the cannonade and the increasing roar as regiment after regiment fell into line, and moved southward, through the thickets of pine. Sharp and clear above the musketry rose the cheers of the combatants.

General Hunter hastens to the spot, and is wounded almost at the first volley, and compelled to leave the field. The contest suddenly grows fierce. The Rhode Island boys push on to closer quarters, and the Rebels under General Evans give way from a thicket to a fence, from a fence to a knoll. Another Rebel brigade, described as General Bee’s, is seen swinging into line west of Evans towards the haystacks by Dogan’s house. He is in such a position that he can pour a fire upon the flank of the Rhode Island boys, who are pushing Evans. It is a galling fire, and the brave fellows are cut down by the raking shots from the haystacks. They are almost overwhelmed. But help is at hand. The Seventy-first New York, the Second New Hampshire, and the First Rhode Island, all belonging to Burnside’s brigade, move toward the haystacks. They bring their guns to a level, and the rattle and roll begin. There are jets of flame, long lines of light, white clouds, unfolding and expanding, rolling over and over, and rising above the tree-tops. Wilder the uproar. Men fall, tossing their arms; some leap into the air, some plunge headlong, falling like logs of wood or lumps of lead. Some reel, stagger, and tumble; others lie down gently as to a night’s repose, unheeding the din, commotion, and uproar. They are bleeding, torn, and mangled. Legs, arms, bodies are crushed. They see nothing. They cannot tell what has happened. The air is full of fearful noise. An unseen storm sweeps by. The trees are splintered, crushed, and broken as if smitten by thunderbolts. Twigs and leaves fall to the ground. There is smoke, dust, wild talking, shouting, hissings, howlings, explosions. It is a new, strange, unanticipated experience to the soldiers of both armies, far different from what they thought it would be.

General Porter’s brigade comes to the aid of Burnside, moving towards Dogan’s house. Jackson’s Rebel brigade is reported to be there to meet him. Arnold’s battery is in play, --guns pouring a constant stream of shot and shells upon the Rebel line. The Washington Artillery, from New Orleans, is replying from the hill south of Dogan’s. Other Rebel batteries are cutting Burnside’s brigade to pieces. The men are all but ready to fall back before the terrible storm. Burnside sends to Porter for help, --he asks for the brave old soldiers, the regulars, who have been true to the flag of their country, while many of their former officers have been false. They have been long in the service, and have had many fierce contests with the Indians on the Western plains. They are true as steel. Captain Sykes commands them. He leads the way. You see them, with steady ranks, in the edge of the woods east of Dogan’s house. They have been facing southwest, and now they turn to the southeast. They pass through the grove of pines, and enter the open field. They are cut through and through with solid shot, shells burst around them, men drop from the ranks, but the battalion does not falter. It sweeps on close up to the cloud of flame and smoke rolling from the hill north of the turnpike. Their muskets come to a level. There is a click, click, click, along the line. A broad sheet of flame, a white, sulphurous cloud, a deep roll like the angry growl of thunder. There is a sudden staggering in the Rebel ranks. Men whirl round, and drop upon the ground. The line wavers, and breaks. They run down the hill, across the hollows, to another knoll. There they rally, and hold their ground a while. More Rebel soldiers, said to be Hampton’s Legion and Cocke’s brigade, come to their support. Fugitives are brought back by the officers, who can be seen to ride furiously over the field. There is a lull, and then the strife goes on, a rattling fire of musketry, and a continual booming of the cannonade.

General Heintzelman’s division was in rear of General Hunter’s on the march. When the battle begun the troops were several miles from Sudley Church. They were parched with thirst, and when they reached the stream they, too, stopped and filled their canteens. Burnsides’s and Porter’s brigades were engaged two hours before Heintzelman’s division reached the field. Eight regiments had driven the Rebels from their first position.

General Heintzelman marched upon the Rebels west of Dogan’s house. The Rebel batteries were on a knoll, a short distance from the toll-gate. Griffin and Ricketts opened upon them with their rifled guns. Then came a great puff of smoke. It was a Rebel caisson blown up by one of Griffin’s shells. It was a continuous, steady artillery fire. The gunners of the Rebel batteries were swept away by the unerring aim of Griffin’s gunners. They changed position again and again, to avoid the shot. Mingled with the constant crashing of the cannonade was an irregular firing of muskets, like the pattering of rain-drops upon a roof. At times there was a quicker rattle, and heavy rolls, like the fall of a great building.

General Wilcox swung his brigade round upon Jackson’s flank. The Rebel general must retreat or be cut off, and he fell back to the toll-gate, to the turnpike, across it, in confusion, to the ridge by Mrs. Henry’s. All of the Rebel brigades, said to be Evans’s, Bee’s, Bartow’s, and Cocke’s brigades, which have been trying to hold their ground against Burnside and Porter’s brigades, by this movement are also forced back to Mr. Lewis’s house. The Rebels do not all go back. There are hundreds who rushed up in hot haste in the morning lying bleeding, torn, mangled, upon the wooded slopes. Some are prisoners.

I talked with a soldier of one of the Virginia regiments. We were near the Stone Bridge. He was a tall, athletic young man, dressed in a gray uniform trimmed with yellow braid.
“How many soldiers have you on the field?” I asked.
“Ninety thousand.”
“Hardly that number, I guess.”
“Yes, sir. We have got Beauregard’s and Johnston’s armies. Johnston came yesterday and a whole lot more from Richmond. If yo whip us to-day, you will whip nigh to a hundred thousand.”
“Who is in command?”
“Jeff Davis.”
“I thought Beauregard was in command.”
“Well, he was; but Jeff Davis is on the field now. I know it; for I saw him just before I was captured. He was on a white horse.”
While talking, a shell screamed over our heads and fell in the woods. The Rebel batteries had opened again upon our position. Another came, and we were compelled to leave the spot.

After Burnside and Porter had driven the Rebels across the turnpike, General Sherman and General Keyes crossed Bull Run above the Stone Bridge and moved straight down the stream. Schenk’s brigade and Ayer’s and Carlisle’s batteries were left to guard the rear.

Perhaps you have a brother or a father in the Second New Hampshire, or in the Seventy-first New York, or in some other regiment; or perhaps when the war is over you may wish to visit the spot and behold the ground where this first great battle was fought. You will wish to see just where they stood. Looking, then, along the line at one o’clock, you see nearest the stream General Keye’s brigade, composed of the First, Second, and Third Connecticut regiments and the Fourth Maine. Next is Sherman’s brigade, composed of the Sixty-ninth and Seventy-ninth New York Militia with some in their tartan trousers, the Thirteenth New York Volunteers, and the Second Wisconsin. Between these and the toll-gate you see first, as you go west, Burnside’s brigade, composed of the First and Second Rhode Island, the Seventy-first New York Militia, and the Second New Hampshire, and the Second Rhode Island battery; extending to the toll-house is Porter’s brigade. He has Syke’s battalion of regulars, and the Eighth and Fourteenth regiments of New York Militia and Arnold’s battery. Crossing the road which comes down from Sudley Springs, you see General Franklin’s brigade, containing the Fifth Massachusetts Militia, the First Minnesota Volunteers, and the Fourth Pennsylvania Militia. Next you come to the men from Maine and Vermont, the Second, Fourth, and Fifth Maine, and the Second Vermont, General Howard’s brigade. Beyond, upon the extreme right, is General Wilcox with the First Michigan and the Eleventh New York. Griffin’s and Rickett’s batteries are near at hand. There are twenty-four regiments and twenty-four pieces of artillery. There are two companies of cavalry.

Onward pressed the Union troops, success attending their arms. The battle was going in our favor. We had driven the Rebels nearly two miles. The Rebel flank has been turned. There is marching to and fro of regiments. There is not much order. Regiments are scattered. The lines are not even. There are a great many stragglers on both sides; more, probably at this time, from the Rebel ranks than from McDowell’s army, for thus far the battle has gone against them. You can see them scattered over the fields, beyond Mr. Lewis’s.

The fight goes on. The artillery crashes louder than before. There is a continuous rattle of musketry. It is like the roaring of a hail-storm. Sherman and Keyes move down to the foot of the hill, near Mr. Lewis’s. Burnside and Porter march across the turnpike. Franklin and Howard and Wilcox, who have been pushing south, turn towards the southeast. There are desperate hand-to-hand encounters. Cannon are taken and retaken. Gunners on both sides are shot while loading their pieces. Hundreds fall, and other hundreds leave the ranks. The woods toward Sudley Springs are filled with wounded men and fugitives, weak, thirsty, hungry, exhausted, worn down by the long morning march, want of sleep, lack of food, and the excitement of the hour.

It was a little past three o’clock, when standing by the broken-down stone bridge which the Rebels had destroyed, I had a full view of the action going on near Mrs. Henry’s house. The