On July 21, 1861, the Civil War turned truly bloody. There was no turning back.
The battle that unfolded that Sunday on the plains of Manassas, Virginia – fought in the summer heat along a winding stream called Bull Run, about 25 miles southwest of Washington – was the largest and bloodiest engagement in American history to that point.
General Irvin McDowell’s army of green volunteers collided with Confederate forces under General P.G.T. Beauregard near the strategically vital Manassas railroad junction and came apart. The United States forces that had marched out of Washington with civilian spectators trailing behind to watch what many expected to be a decisive victory streamed back into the nation’s capital after a disastrous defeat.
The Luzerne County volunteers in General Robert Patterson’s Army of the Shenandoah played no part in it. While McDowell’s men fought and died at Bull Run, Patterson’s force sat inactive in the Shenandoah Valley, having failed to hold Confederate forces in place.
Those forces – among them Thomas J. Jackson’s troops, who earned him the nickname “Stonewall” that day – moved by rail through the Manassas Gap and helped turn the tide of battle. The men from Pennsylvania’s Coal Region, whose letters have filled these pages since April, were miles away when the battle that would define the war’s first year was decided.
But Pittston, PA does have an eyewitness. A soldier identified only as “F.W.,” serving in the 3rd Michigan Volunteer Infantry, sent a letter home to his mother in Pittston. Michigan and Pennsylvania’s Wyoming Valley had connections – numerous former Pittston residents had settled there in the decade before the war. The soldier’s mother brought the letter to Pittston Gazette editor George Richart, who held it until September before publishing it.
It is the closest thing we have to a Coal Region perspective on Bull Run.
From the Pittston Gazette, September 1861:
A Letter from Virginia
Hunter’s Place, N. E. Virginia
Headquarters 3rd Regiment Michigan Volunteers
August 14th, 1861,
My Dear Mother:
I have long been going to write you, but I thought I should wait, as I had a I sketch in my diary which I picked up at intervals of the Battle of Bull Run, which to give you a long and accurate account would please you much better than a short one of no importance.
I don’t have much time to write, but to the best of my ability I will give you an account of that fearful battle, retreat and stampede. The highest figures of our loss do not go beyond 1,000, while probably 700 is nearer the truth. In regard to the retreat, from accounts I have read, the public would naturally be led to the belief that the whole column was totally routed, and fled in complete disorder, throwing away their muskets, which was not at all the case.
With the exception of some three or four regiments, the whole force retreated in good order, with firm and well closed ranks, prepared to receive the enemy should they pursue us, which it seemed they had not the courage to do. Well, I am getting ahead of my story.
On nearing the enemy strong hold, on Thursday, the 18th of July, our brigade, consisting of the Massachusetts First, Michigan Second, and New York Twelfth, was in advance of the whole column, the Michigan Third, our regiment, the second from the front. As we approached still nearer, the Massachusetts First went to the left, thus bringing the Michigan Third directly in front. Our regiment was the first upon the field of battle, the first to receive the fire from the batteries of the enemy, and the last who left the field.
For more than an hour and a half shot and shell flew over our heads in quick succession. Fortunately for as the range of their guns was too high, else a terrible slaughter would have been made in our ranks. The Massachusetts First, who shortly afterward came within range of the batteries, did not fare so well, for the enemy had now sighted their guns more accurately, and some twenty or thirty of the brave fellows bit the dust.
The New York Twelfth came up after the Massachusetts First and suffered in about the same proportion. A number of skirmishers of the above regiments were killed. The total loss in killed and wounded of our brigade, which, be it remembered, was the only force engaged in the battle of the 18th of July, was about 100, only about 3,500 of us against 20,000 of them.
When the bugle sounded for the retreat, the Michigan Third was the last to quit the field, and behaved throughout the whole engagement as though war was a pastime, or fighting their daily occupation. Our Colonel won for himself imperishable renown by his signal gallantry and daring intrepidity, fearlessly reconnoitering and placing himself at the most exposed points, with all the coolness and valor of the hero of a hundred battles. At about six o’clock our brigade retired in good order to Centerville, about three miles from the scene of the conflict, to await reinforcements, where we passed the night.
The next morning we advanced to within a short distance of the battlefield of the day before, where we stacked arms and remained the entire day, our boys amusing themselves by chatting, smoking, singing, picking berries, as fearless and unconcerned as though at home quietly pursuing their daily avocations.
Shortly after nightfall of the 19th we were again ordered to fall in and shoulder arms, when a short double – quick march brought as directly upon the battlefield, where we remained, at the brow of a hill, laying close on our stomachs and on our arms, expecting an attack.
We acted as the advance guard. At about 1 o’clock that night, only about 40 rods ahead, the musketry fire commenced a steady banging all night, volley after volley, but we remained quiet, expecting every minute to hear the sound of their feet We though it strange that our pickets were not driven in, but it appears they were shooting amongst themselves, as we could hear them yell out, “For God’s sake don’t shoot any more; we are killing our own men!”
The balls whizzed over our heads thick and fast. In the morning, we fell back to our position of the 19th. Saturday the 20th, passed off in very much the same manner as the day before. On Sunday morning, reinforcements having arrived, preparations were made for an advance upon the enemy.
About daylight, a column of men, consisting of 21 regiments, but not more than 15,000 strong, took up their line of march to the right of us; a small force under the protection of the Rhode Island battery took position on the left, while we were stationed on the ground previously occupied by us on the 18th, our batteries being in the front.
In about an hour after our positions were taken, two cannon shots were fired upon our right, as a signal, which was answered by our own and the Rhode Island battery, and they immediately commenced throwing shot and shell into the enemy, who were posted in a ravine within easy cannon range. Our fire must have caused great havoc among them for in a short time they were seen fleeing in great disorder towards the right, and many of their baggage wagons were blown into the air by the explosion of our shells.
Our batteries now ceased firing, but on the right the booming of cannon and the sharp, rattling peals of musketry told us that a fearful conflict was racing there. The roar of battle now sounded more loudly and then more faintly, until at lost it nearly died away in the distance, leading as to believe that oar men were driving the enemy before them, which at that time was the truth.
About 2 o’clock, word was brought to us that our troops were victorious and the enemy retreating, which caused every heart to leap wildly with joy. Our Colonel now kindly gave us permission to retire within the shade of the woods, which permission, as we had all day been exposed to the burning sun, we gladly availed ourselves of. But, alas I how short lived was our joy, how quickly dashed our cup of happiness, how brief our enjoyment of the consciousness of a glorious victory won, for scarcely had we reached the friendly shadows of the forest, when the order was given to fall in, and we were told that our forces were on a full retreat. With sad and sorrowing hearts oar brigade took up the line of march for Centerville, and on looking back towards the right a dense cloud of dust, drawing nearer and nearer, told us that what we had heard was only too true.
At Centerville, our brigade made a stand, and shut off the rebels’ whole force of cavalry, with which they tried to flank us. The two Michigan regiments were the means of saving our poor, worn out troops from being all cut to pieces. We covered the retreat of the right column.
At 12 o’clock, midnight, again commenced to march towards Washington, our brigade bringing up the extreme rear, thus occupying the post of honor upon the retreat, the most dangerous on account of the cavalry. That march of 30 miles, without any sleep for two nights, or anything to eat, was one to be remembered by those who formed our brigade.
A few hours before, all was life and gayety – now, all was gloom and sadness, the men marching silently along with bowed heads and heavy hearts. The night clear and beautiful. Heaven’s pale monitors, the trembling stars, bespangled the blue vault overhead, while the bright moonlight fell dashingly upon the glittering and moving ramparts of ten thousand bayonets, and the night winds sighed in battle mournfully among the swaying branches of the dense forest through which we passed.
But the scene which at any other time might have filled our hearts with joy by its exquisite loveliness, had for us no charm, for we knew upon the battlefield we had left behind lay hundreds, and, as we then supposed, thousands of our brave comrades, with their pale faces turned upward toward the glorious stars, which looked down and smiled, as if in mockery, at the ruins. We knew that upon that field lay our wounded companions, left to the mercy of a cruel and relentless foe, with no fond mother, no devoted sister near to wipe away the beaded drops of agony, or whisper the consoling words of love and affection into the ear of the dying – alone they were left, to be inhumanly butchered by a savage enemy, and of our own blood – Oh! Most horrible!
There is no doubt as the fate of our poor wounded comrades; numerous instances are where the infernal wretches were seen to slit the throats of our wounded men as they lay helpless upon the field of battle.
After our retreat they set fire to a small building in which were a number of our wounded, consuming them alive. [Editor’s note – as the author himself mentions… he did not see these alleged war crimes himself. They very likely were mere rumors. The wounded suffered, of that there is no doubt, but of throat slitting and deliberate burning of wounded men… not so much.]
Merciful God I can it be that humanity can approach so near to the fiend, and yet; these things are true. This is no sketch any no picture of the imagination, it is hard, stern reality. Let these facts be widely circulated at the north, and if this is to be the style of warfare carried on by the Southern Confederacy, before the conflict is over the south will become one barren desert, and her population will be swept away like chaff before the driving winds.
The blood of our murdered brothers calls out loudly for vengeance. Shall they have it? Let the freemen of the north respond. All honor to the true, the brave, the gallant hearts that have offered up their life blood as a willing sacrifice in this most righteous cause. Their names will be – written in letters of living light, and gain a bright page in the history of a glorious land. [Another editor’s note – again, these are rumors. But they do tell us something important. The dehumanization of the enemy had begun. The soft war and skirmishing was over. As this soldier writes – hard, stern reality was setting in.]
My friends at home, be not disheartened by our temporary reverse. That we shall ultimately triumph is as certain as death. Many of us will not live to see it, but we shall triumph. As long as there is one drop of the pure, patriot blood of our revolutionary sires coursing our veins, we will not shrink from the conflict, or abandon the cause of our country in her hour of need. We want no compromise until the thieves, cowards and assassins now arrayed against us shall have been swept away, and old Davis and his staff hanged by the neck between heaven and earth.
I have endured much. I have encountered deadly peril. I am ready and willing to do more to encounter the same, or still greater peril. Many of us have those depending on us who are dearer than life itself, but as dear as they are, and as bitter as is the pang at the thought of the eternal sundering of the bonds which love has so closely knit, still at the call of our country we are prepared to bid even them farewell forever, and to meet a glorious death like those of our brave comrades who have gone before us.
What a terrible thing a battle is. No one can conceive any idea of it till he has actually been in the engagement. The moaning and mournful cries of the wounded, dying for want of water or loss of blood staggering upon their feet but to see a brother or a father dead beside him – the hurrying to and fro of the ambulances and field stretchers, filled with the most horrible sights man can imagine, thrown in a pile amidst pain and agony, to lay there only to wait to be handled by the surgeon, probably be slashed into as a beast of the forest – and see some twenty or thirty brave fellows, but a few moments before full of life and gayety, all occupying one grave.
There was one poor fellow of the New York Twelfth who was sitting on a stone, probably from fatigue, when a rifled cannon ball struck him, taking all one side of his head off, and was yet still struggling for life, which is so sweet to us all. He was, in coarse of an hour, bled to death by the surgeon, to quiet his misery. A thousand like this of our brave volunteers have fallen.
From a thousand homes in the hillside cottages and peaceful glens of the north, goes up a wail of anguish for the fathers, husbands, brothers, lovers and sons, who may never more return to those homes, where the sound of their footsteps was wont to bring joy and gladness. The maiden will wait in vain for her lover, the mother for her son, the wife for her husband. They are all gone, and with them the light of a thousand homes has gone out. They have fallen martyrs to a just and holy cause.
The enemy’s loss is probably 3,000, but for them we have no sympathy. Their acts of barbarity on the field of battle have set our hearts against them.
It was only a providential act that we came away. Two were struck with a cannon ball in my own company.
Three years is long while to be parted from my kind friends, and to live in such a wild manner, amid so many hardships. Many nights during that battle we laid out to the cold rain, without even a blanket to throw over us, nothing to eat for two days, and then made that retreat of 30 miles. I thought I would be taken prisoner, for I was in fear of failing asleep on the road. Nothing but excitement saved us.
I lost the regiment and went to Alexandria, in fact, about one-half of them went there. The balance went to Arlington Heights. Alexandria is filled with Union troops. The place is completely shattered and torn to pieces. The next day I caught up to the regiment, bare-footed and bent almost double. I did not get over it in a week. We are not ordered to take up the line of march for a few days.
F.W.
At Bull Run, the United States Army lost 480 killed, 1,000 wounded, and 1,200 missing, most of whom were captured in the retreat. The Confederate forces lost about 2,000 casualties in their victory.
The war had turned truly bloody. Bull Run was the bloodiest battle in American history to this point. Famous engagements in American folklore – Lexington, Yorktown, New Orleans, Buena Vista – all paled in comparison to the blood letting at Bull Run on July 21, 1861. And this was but the opening round of the fight to settle the future of the American republic.
Read the previous letter from the Letters from War: 1861 series.
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