ing battle that is well calculated to give one's imagination
full play. The doctors examining their medical chests, packages of white
bandages and lint arriving, the movement of the ambulances, the unusual
number of litters that come into view, the chaplains a little more
fervent in their prayers, officers, from the commanding general down to
the lowest rank, more reserved and less approachable. Even the horses
seem to be restive, or we imagine them to be so. In fact, everything
takes on a different attitude. The very air appears to be laden with an
indescribable something that makes every individual soldier feel himself
lifted up into a position of responsibility quite different from the
place he occupied when loitering around the camp with the enemy far
away from the front.

[Illustration: GEN. THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON,

Christened "Stonewall Jackson" by General Bee at the first battle of
Manassas.]

This was the state of things as I saw them in and around Manassas on the
eve of the first battle of Bull Run. Before the rising of the sun on
that beautiful Sabbath day, July 21, 1861, the cannon could be heard in
the distance, which told us that the two combatants had locked horns.
All day long we could hear the booming of the guns and see the smoke of
the battle over the tops of the low pines in our front, and I was ever
so anxious to get closer and see the real thing, but soldiers cannot go
just where they may desire, especially when a great battle is in
progress.

Early in the day I saw what thrilled me no little. It was the first
blood I had ever seen shed on a battlefield. I saw coming across the
field, moving quite slowly, a man leading a horse. As they approached I
saw that the horse was limping, and the man was a soldier. The horse was
badly wounded and bleeding, and seemed to be in great pain. Whenever the
man would stop the horse would attempt to lie down. I wanted to go to
him and put my arms around his neck and tell him he was a hero. The man
and the horse passed by, for there was too much going on to allow a
single wounded horse to absorb all of one's attention.

Toward the afternoon news came in from the front that our army was
beaten and was in full retreat.

Every available man was called from the camp, and a second line of
defense was formed, behind which the retreating army could rally and
make another stand. It was then that I began to realize what war was.

About five o'clock a soldier came acr