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The Guns of Bull Run
J >> Joseph A. Altsheler >> The Guns of Bull Run Pages: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 This etext was produced by Ken Reeder
Errata and other transcription notes are included as an appendix
THE GUNS OF BULL RUN
A STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR'S EVE
by JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
VOLUMES IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
THE GUNS OF BULL RUN.
THE GUNS OF SHILOH.
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL.
THE SWORD OF ANTIETAM.
THE STAR OF GETTYSBURG.
THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA.
THE SHADES OF THE WILDERNESS.
THE TREE OF APPOMATTOX.
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
HARRY KENTON, A Lad Who Fights on the Southern Side.
DICK MASON, Cousin of Harry Kenton, Who Fights on the Northern Side.
COLONEL GEORGE KENTON, Father of Harry Kenton.
MRS. MASON, Mother of Dick Mason.
JULIANA, Mrs. Mason's Devoted Colored Servant.
COLONEL ARTHUR WINCHESTER, Dick Mason's Regimental Commander.
COLONEL LEONIDAS TALBOT, Commander of the Invincibles,
a Southern Regiment.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL HECTOR ST. HILAIRE, Second in Command of the
Invincibles.
ALAN HERTFORD, A Northern Cavalry Leader.
PHILIP SHERBURNE, A Southern Cavalry Leader.
WILLIAM J. SHEPARD, A Northern Spy.
DANIEL WHITLEY, A Northern Sergeant and Veteran of the Plains.
GEORGE WARNER, A Vermont Youth Who Loves Mathematics.
FRANK PENNINGTON, A Nebraska Youth, Friend of Dick Mason.
ARTHUR ST. CLAIR, A Native of Charleston, Friend of Harry Kenton.
TOM LANGDON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
GEORGE DALTON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
BILL SKELLY, Mountaineer and Guerrilla.
TOM SLADE, A Guerrilla Chief.
SAM JARVIS, The Singing Mountaineer.
IKE SIMMONS, Jarvis' Nephew.
AUNT "SUSE," A Centenarian and Prophetess.
BILL PETTY, A Mountaineer and Guide.
JULIEN DE LANGEAIS, A Musician and Soldier from Louisiana.
JOHN CARRINGTON, Famous Northern Artillery Officer.
DR. RUSSELL, Principal of the Pendleton School.
ARTHUR TRAVERS, A Lawyer.
JAMES BERTRAND, A Messenger from the South.
JOHN NEWCOMB, A Pennsylvania Colonel.
JOHN MARKHAM, A Northern Officer.
JOHN WATSON, A Northern Contractor.
WILLIAM CURTIS, A Southern Merchant and Blockade Runner.
MRS. CURTIS, Wife of William Curtis.
HENRIETTA GARDEN, A Seamstress in Richmond.
DICK JONES, A North Carolina Mountaineer.
VICTOR WOODVILLE, A Young Mississippi Officer.
JOHN WOODVILLE, Father of Victor Woodville.
CHARLES WOODVILLE, Uncle of Victor Woodville.
COLONEL BEDFORD, A Northern Officer.
CHARLES GORDON, A Southern Staff Officer.
JOHN LANHAM, An Editor.
JUDGE KENDRICK, A Lawyer.
MR. CULVER, A State Senator.
MR. BRACKEN, A Tobacco Grower.
ARTHUR WHITRIDGE, A State Senator.
HISTORICAL CHARACTERS
ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States.
JEFFERSON DAVIS, President of the Southern Confederacy.
JUDAH P. BENJAMIN, Member of the Confederate Cabinet.
U. S. GRANT, Northern Commander.
ROBERT B. LEE, Southern Commander.
STONEWALL JACKSON, Southern General.
PHILIP H. SHERIDAN, Northern General.
GEORGE H. THOMAS, "The Rock of Chickamauga."
ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON, Southern General.
A. P. HILL, Southern General.
W. S. HANCOCK, Northern General.
GEORGE B. McCLELLAN, Northern General.
AMBROSE B. BURNSIDE, Northern General.
TURNER ASHBY, Southern Cavalry Leader.
J. E. B. STUART, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOSEPH HOOKER, Northern General.
RICHARD S. EWELL, Southern General.
JUBAL EARLY, Southern General.
WILLIAM S. ROSECRANS, Northern General.
SIMON BOLIVAR BUCKNER, Southern General.
LEONIDAS POLK, Southern General and Bishop.
BRAXTON BRAGG, Southern General.
NATHAN BEDFORD FORREST, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOHN MORGAN, Southern Cavalry Leader.
GEORGE J. MEADE, Northern General.
DON CARLOS BUELL, Northern General.
W. T. SHERMAN, Northern General.
JAMES LONGSTREET, Southern General.
P. G. T. BEAUREGARD, Southern General.
WILLIAM L. YANCEY, Alabama Orator.
JAMES A. GARFIELD, Northern General, afterwards President of
the United States.
And many others
IMPORTANT BATTLES DESCRIBED IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
BULL RUN
KERNSTOWN
CROSS KEYS
WINCHESTER
PORT REPUBLIC
THE SEVEN DAYS
MILL SPRING
FORT DONELSON
SHILOH
PERRYVILLE
STONE RIVER
THE SECOND MANASSAS
ANTIETAM
FREDERICKSBURG
CHANCELLORSVILLE
GETTYSBURG
CHAMPION HILL
VICKSBURG
CHICKAMAUGA
MISSIONARY RIDGE
THE WILDERNESS
SPOTTSYLVANIA
COLD HARBOR
FISHER'S HILL
CEDAR CREEK
APPOMATTOX
CONTENTS
I. NEWS FROM CHARLESTON
II. A COURIER TO THE SOUTH
III. THE HEART OF REBELLION
IV. THE FIRST CAPITAL
V. THE NEW PRESIDENT
VI. SUMTER
VII. THE HOMECOMING
VIII. THE FIGHT FOR A STATE
IX. THE RIVER JOURNEY
X. OVER THE MOUNTAINS
XI. IN VIRGINIA
XII. THE FIGHT FOR THE FORT
XIII. THE SEEKER FOR HELP
XIV. IN WASHINGTON
XV. BATTLE'S EVE
XVI. BULL RUN
THE GUNS OF BULL RUN
CHAPTER I
NEWS FROM CHARLESTON
It would soon be Christmas and Harry Kenton, at his desk in the
Pendleton Academy, saw the snow falling heavily outside. The school
stood on the skirt of the town, and the forest came down to the edge of
the playing field. The great trees, oak and ash and elm, were clothed
in white, and they stood out a vast and glittering tracery against the
somber sky.
The desk was of the old kind, intended for two, and Harry's comrade in
it was his cousin, Dick Mason, of his own years and size. They would
graduate in June, and both were large and powerful for their age.
There was a strong family resemblance and yet a difference. Harry's
face was the more sensitive and at times the blood leaped like
quicksilver in his veins. Dick's features indicated a quieter and more
stubborn temper. They were equal favorites with teachers and pupils.
Dick's eyes followed Harry's, and he, too, looked at the falling snow
and the white forest. Both were thinking of Christmas and the holiday
season so near at hand. It was a rich section of Kentucky, and they
were the sons of prosperous parents. The snow was fitting at such a
time, and many joyous hours would be passed before they returned to
school.
The clouds darkened and the snow fell faster. A wind rose and drove it
against the panes. The boys heard the blast roaring outside and the
comfort of the warm room was heightened by the contrast. Harry's eyes
turned reluctantly back to his Tacitus and the customs and manners of
the ancient Germans. The curriculum of the Pendleton Academy was simple,
like most others at that time. After the primary grades it consisted
chiefly of the classics and mathematics. Harry led in the classics and
Dick in the mathematics.
Bob Turner, the free colored man, who was janitor of the academy,
brought in the morning mail, a dozen letters and three or four
newspapers, gave it to Dr. Russell and withdrew on silent feet.
The Doctor was principal of Pendleton Academy, and he always presided
over the room in which sat the larger boys, nearly fifty in number.
His desk and chair were on a low dais and he sat facing the pupils.
He was a large man, with a ruddy face, and thick hair as white as the
snow that was falling outside. He had been a teacher fifty years,
and three generations in Pendleton owed to him most of the learning that
is obtained from books. He opened his letters one by one, and read
them slowly.
Harry moved far away into the German forest with old Tacitus. He was
proud of his Latin and he did not mean to lose his place as first in the
class. The other boys also were absorbed in their books. It was seldom
that all were studious at the same time, but this was one of the rare
moments. There was no shuffling of feet, and fifty heads were bent over
their desks.
It was a full half hour before Harry looked up from his Tacitus.
His first glance was at the window. The snow was driving hard, and the
forest had become a white blur. He looked next at the Doctor and he saw
that the ruddy face had turned white. The old man was gazing intently
at an open letter in his hand. Two or three others had fallen to the
floor. He read the letter again, folded it carefully, and put it in his
pocket. Then he broke the wrapper on one of the newspapers and rapidly
read its columns. The whiteness of his face deepened into pallor.
The slight tearing sound caused most of the boys to look up, and they
noticed the change in the principal's face. They had never seen him
look like that before. It was as if he had received some sudden and
deadly stroke. Yet he sat stiffly upright and there was no sound in the
room but the rustling of the newspaper as he turned its pages.
Harry became conscious of some strange and subtle influence that had
crept into the very air, and his pulse began to leap. The others felt
it, too. There was a tense feeling in the room and they became so still
that the soft beat of the snow on the windows could be heard.
Not a single eye was turned to a book now. All were intent upon the
Doctor, who still read the newspaper, his face without a trace of color,
and his strong white hands trembling. He folded the paper presently,
but still held it in his hand. As he looked up, he became conscious of
the silence in the room, and of the concentrated gaze of fifty pairs
of eyes bent upon him. A little color returned to his cheeks, and his
hands ceased to tremble. He stood up, took the letter from his pocket,
and opened it again.
Dr. Russell was a striking figure, belonging to a classic type found
at its best in the border states. A tall man, he held himself erect,
despite his years, and the color continued to flow back into the face,
which was shaped in a fine strong mold.
"Boys," he said, in a firm, full voice, although it showed emotion,
"I have received news which I must announce to you. As I tell it,
I beg that you will restrain yourselves, and make little comment here.
Its character is such that you are not likely ever to hear anything of
more importance."
No one spoke, but a thrill of excitement ran through the room. Harry
became conscious that the strange and subtle influence had increased.
The pulses in both temples were beating hard. He and Dick leaned
forward, their elbows upon the desk, their lips parted a little in
attention.
"You know," continued Dr. Russell in the full voice that trembled
slightly, "of the troubles that have arisen between the states, North
and South, troubles that the best Americans, with our own great Henry
Clay at the head, have striven to avert. You know of the election of
Lincoln, and how this beloved state of ours, seeking peace, voted for
neither Lincoln nor Breckinridge, both of whom are its sons."
The trembling of his voice increased and he paused again. It was
obvious that he was stirred by deep emotion and it communicated itself
to the boys. Harry was conscious that the thrill, longer and stronger
than before, ran again through the room.
"I have just received a letter from an old friend in Charleston,"
continued Dr. Russell in a shaking voice, "and he tells me that on the
twentieth, three days ago, the state of South Carolina seceded from the
Union. He also sends me copies of two of the Charleston newspapers of
the day following. In both of these papers all despatches from the
other states are put under the head, 'Foreign News.' With the
Abolitionists of New England pouring abuse upon all who do not agree
with them, and the hot heads of South Carolina rushing into violence,
God alone knows what will happen to this distracted country that all
of us love so well."
He turned anew to his correspondence. But Harry saw that he was
trembling all over. An excited murmur arose. The boys began to talk
about the news, and the principal, his thoughts far away, did not call
them to order.
"I suppose since South Carolina has gone out that other southern states
will do the same," said Harry to his cousin, "and that two republics
will stand where but one stood before."
"I don't know that the second result will follow the first," replied
Dick Mason.
Harry glanced at him. He was conscious of a certain cold tenacity in
Dick's voice. He felt that a veil of antagonism had suddenly been drawn
between these two who were the sons of sisters and who had been close
comrades all their lives. His heart swelled suddenly. As if by
inspiration, he saw ahead long and terrible years. He said no more,
but gazed again at the pages of his Tacitus, although the letters only
swam before his eyes.
The great buzz subsided at last, although there was not one among the
boys who was not still thinking of the secession of South Carolina.
They had shared in the excitement of the previous year. A few had
studied the causes, but most were swayed by propinquity and kinship,
which with youth are more potent factors than logic.
The afternoon passed slowly. Dr. Russell, who always heard the
recitations of the seniors in Latin, did not call the class. Harry was
so much absorbed in other thoughts that he did not notice the fact.
Outside, the clouds still gathered and the soft beat of the snow on the
window panes never ceased. The hour of dismissal came at last and the
older boys, putting on their overcoats, went silently out. Harry did
not dream that he had passed the doors of Pendleton Academy for the
last time, as a student.
While the seniors were quiet, there was no lack of noise from the
younger lads. Snowballs flew and the ends of red comforters, dancing
in the wind, touched the white world with glowing bits of color. Harry
looked at them with a sort of pity. The magnified emotions of youth had
suddenly made him feel very old and very responsible. When a snowball
struck him under the ear he paid no attention to it, a mark of great
abstraction in him.
He and his cousin walked gravely on, and left the shouting crowd behind
them. Three or four hundred yards further, they came upon the main
street of Pendleton, a town of fifteen hundred people, important in
its section as a market, and as a financial and political center. It
had two banks as solid as stone, and it was the proud boast of its
inhabitants that, excepting Louisville and Lexington, its bar was of
unequalled talent in the state. Other towns made the same claim,
but no matter. Pendleton knew that they were wrong. Lawyers stood
very high, especially when they were fluent speakers.
It was a singular fact that the two boys, usually full of talk, after
the manner of youth, did not speak until they came to the parting of
their ways. Then Harry, the more emotional of the two, and conscious
that the veil of antagonism was still between them, thrust out his hand
suddenly and said:
"Whatever happens, Dick, you and I must not quarrel over it. Let's
pledge our word here and now that, being of the same blood and having
grown up together, we will always be friends."
The color in the cheeks of the other boy deepened. A slight moisture
appeared in his eyes. He was, on the whole, more reserved than Harry,
but he, too, was stirred. He took the outstretched hand and gave it a
strong clasp.
"Always, Harry," he replied. "We don't think alike, maybe, about the
things that are coming, but you and I can't quarrel."
He released the hand quickly, because he hated any show of emotion,
and hurried down a side street to his home. Harry walked on into the
heart of the town, as he lived farther away on the other side. He soon
had plenty of evidence that the news of South Carolina's secession had
preceded him here. There had been no such stir in Pendleton since they
heard of Buena Vista, where fifty of her sons fought and half of them
fell.
Despite the snow, the streets about the central square were full of
people. Many of the men were reading newspapers. It was fifteen miles
to the nearest railroad station, and the mail had come in at noon,
bringing the first printed accounts of South Carolina's action. In this
border state, which was a divided house from first to last, men still
guarded their speech. They had grown up together, and they were all of
blood kin, near or remote.
"What will it mean?" said Harry to old Judge Kendrick.
"War, perhaps, my son," replied the old man sadly. "The violence of New
England in speech and the violence of South Carolina in action may start
a flood. But Kentucky must keep out of it. I shall raise my voice
against the fury of both factions, and thank God, our people have never
refused to hear me."
He spoke in a somewhat rhetorical fashion, natural to time and place,
but he was in great earnest. Harry went on, and entered the office of
the Pendleton News, the little weekly newspaper which dispensed the news,
mostly personal, within a radius of fifty miles. He knew that the News
would appear on the following day, and he was anxious to learn what
Mr. Gardner, the editor, a friend of his, would have to say in his
columns.
He walked up the dusty stairway and entered the room, where the
editor sat amid piles of newspapers. Mr. Gardner was a youngish man,
high-colored and with longish hair. He was absorbed so deeply in a copy
of the Louisville Journal that he did not hear Harry's step or notice
his coming until the boy stood beside him. Then he looked up and said
dryly:
"Too many sparks make a blaze at last. If people keep on quarreling
there's bound to be a fight some time or other. I suppose you've heard
that South Carolina has seceded."
"Dr. Russell announced it at the school. Are you telling, Mr. Gardner,
what the News will have to say about it?"
"I don't mind," replied the editor, who was fond of Harry, and who liked
his alert mind. "If it comes to a breach, I'm going with my people.
It's hard to tell what's right or wrong, but my ancestors belonged to
the South and so do I."
"That's just the way I feel!" exclaimed Harry vehemently.
The editor smiled.
"But I don't intend to say so in the News tomorrow," he continued.
"I shall try to pour oil upon the waters, although I won't be able to
hide my Southern leanings. The Colonel, your father, Harry, will not
seek to conceal his."
"No," said Harry. "He will not. What was that?"
The sound of a shot came from the street. The two ran hurriedly down
the stairway. Three men were holding a fourth who struggled with them
violently. One had wrenched from his hand a pistol still smoking at the
muzzle. About twenty feet away was another man standing between two who
held him tightly, although he made no effort to release himself.
Harry looked at the two captives. They made a striking contrast.
The one who fought was of powerful build, and dressed roughly. His
whole appearance indicated the primitive human being, and Harry knew
immediately that he was one of the mountaineers who came long distances
to trade or carouse in Pendleton.
The man who faced the mountaineer, standing quietly between those who
held him, was young and slender, though tall. His longish black hair
was brushed carefully. The natural dead whiteness of his face was
accentuated by his black mustache, which turned up at the ends like
that of a duelist. He was dressed in black broadcloth, the long coat
buttoned closely about his body, but revealing a full and ruffled
shirt bosom as white as snow. His face expressed no emotion, but the
mountaineer cursed violently.
"I can read the story at once," said the editor, shrugging his
shoulders. "I know the mountaineer. He's Bill Skelly, a rough man,
prone to reach for the trigger, especially when he's full of bad whiskey
as he is now, and the other, Arthur Travers, is no stranger to you.
Skelly is for the abolition of slavery. All the mountaineers are.
Maybe it's because they have no slaves themselves and hate the more
prosperous and more civilized lowlanders who do have them. Harry,
my boy, as you grow older you'll find that reason and logic seldom
control men's lives."
"Skelly was excited over the news from South Carolina," said Harry,
continuing the story, which he, too, had read, as an Indian reads a
trail, "and he began to drink. He met Travers and cursed the slave-
holders. Travers replied with a sneer, which the mountaineer could
not understand, except that it hurt. Skelly snatched out his pistol
and fired wildly. Travers drew his and would have fired, although not
so wildly, but friends seized him. Meanwhile, others overpowered Skelly
and Travers is not excited at all, although he watches every movement
of his enemy, while seeming to be indifferent."
"You read truly, Harry," said Gardner. "It was a fortunate thing for
Skelly that he was overpowered. Somehow, those two men facing each
other seem, in a way, to typify conditions in this part of the country
at least."
Harry was now watching Travers, who always aroused his interest.
A lawyer, twenty-seven or eight years of age, he had little practice,
and seemed to wish little. He had a wonderful reputation for dexterity
with cards and the pistol. A native of Pendleton, he was the son of
parents from one of the Gulf States, and Harry could never quite feel
that he was one of their own Kentucky blood and breed.
"You can release me," said Travers quietly to the young men who stood on
either side of him holding his arms. "I think the time has come to hunt
bigger game than a fool there like Skelly. He is safe from me."
He spoke with a supercilious scorn which impressed Harry, but which
he did not wholly admire. Travers seemed to him to have the quiet
deadliness of the cobra. There was something about him that repelled.
The men released him. He straightened his long black coat, smoothed the
full ruffles of his shirt and walked away, as if nothing had happened.
Skelly ceased to struggle. The aspect of the crowd, which was largely
hostile, sobered him. Steve Allison, the town constable, appeared and,
putting his hand heavily upon the mountaineer's shoulder, said:
"You come with me, Skelly."
But old Judge Kendrick intervened.
"Let him go, Steve," he said. "Send him back to the mountains."
"But he tried to kill a man, Judge."
"I know, but extraordinary times demand extraordinary methods. A great
and troubled period has come into all our lives. Maybe we're about to
face some terrible crisis. Isn't that so?"
"Yes," replied the crowd.
"Then we must not hurry it or make it worse by sudden action. If Skelly
is punished, the mountaineers will say it is political. I appeal to you,
Dr. Russell, to sustain me."
The white head of the principal showed above the crowd.
"Judge Kendrick is right," he said. "Skelly must be permitted to go.
His action, in fact, was due to the strained conditions that have long
prevailed among us, and was precipitated by the alarming message that
has come today. For the sake of peace, we must let him go."
"All right, then," said Allison, "but he goes without his pistol."
Skelly was put upon his mountain pony, and he rode willingly away amid
the snow and the coming dusk, carrying, despite his release, a bitter
heart into the mountains, and a tale that would inflame the jealousy
with which upland regarded lowland.
The crowd dispersed. Gardner returned to his office, and Harry went
home. He lived in the best house in or about Pendleton and his father
was its wealthiest citizen. George Kenton, having inherited much land
in Kentucky, and two or three plantations further south had added to
his property by good management. A strong supporter of slavery, actual
contact with the institution on a large scale in the Gulf States had not
pleased him, and he had sold his property there, reinvesting the money
in his native and, as he believed, more solid state. His title of
colonel was real. A graduate of West Point, he had fought bravely with
Scott in all the battles in the Valley of Mexico, but now retired and a
widower, he lived in Pendleton with Harry, his only child.
Harry approached the house slowly. He knew that his father was a
man of strong temper and he wondered how he would take the news from
Charleston. All the associations of Colonel Kenton were with the
extreme Southern wing, and his influence upon his son was powerful.
But the Pendleton home, standing just beyond the town, gave forth
only brightness and welcome. The house itself, large and low, built
massively of red brick, stood on the crest of a gentle slope in two
acres of ground. The clipped cones of pine trees adorned the slopes,
and made parallel rows along the brick walk, leading to the white
portico that formed the entrance to the house. Light shone from a
half dozen windows.
It seemed fine and glowing to Harry. His father loved his home, and so
did he. The twilight had now darkened into night and the snow still
drove, but the house stood solid and square to wind and winter, and the
flame from its windows made broad bands of red and gold across the snow.
Harry went briskly up the walk and then stood for a few moments in the
portico, shaking the snow off his overcoat and looking back at the town,
which lay in a warm cluster in the hollow below. Many lights twinkled
there, and it occurred to Harry that they would twinkle later than usual
that night.
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