was that while riding along the line, waving his sword, giving orders not to molest the baggage, and crying out, “Stay in ranks, men, stay in ranks,” then in an undertone he would call to his servant, “Get me another blanket, Harvy.”  The artillery that had been ordered to take part in the infantry’s pursuit were just preparing to open fire upon the fleeing enemy, when by some unaccountable order, the pursuit was ordered to be abandoned.  Had not this uncalled for order come at this juncture, it is not hard to conceive the results.  The greater portion of the Federal Army would have been captured, for with the exception of General Sykes’ Brigade of regulars and a battery of regular artillery, there was not an organization between our army and Washington City.  All night long the roads through Centerville, and the next day all leading through Fairfax, Falls Church, and Anandale were one continual throng of fleeing fugitives.  Guns and accoutrements, camp equipage, and ordnance strewed the sides of the road for miles; wagons, ambulances, cannon, and caissons had been abandoned, and terror-stricken animals galloped unbridled through the woods and fields.  The great herds of cattle, now free from their keepers, went bellowing through the forest, seeking shelter in some secluded swamp.

At night, we were all very reluctantly ordered back to our old camp to talk, rejoice, and dream of the wonderful victory.  Beauregard and Johnston had in this engagement of all arms 30,888, but 3,000 of Ewell’s and part of Bonham’s Brigade were not on the field on that day.  The enemy had 50,000 and 117 cannon.  Confederate loss in killed and wounded, 1,485.  Federal loss in killed, wounded, and captured, 4,500.  There being no enemy in our front and little danger of surprise, the soldiers were allowed to roam at will over the battlefield the next few days.  Almost the entire army availed themselves of this their first opportunity of visiting a real battlefield and witnessing the real horrors and carnage of which they had often read and seen pictures but had never seen in reality.

Who is it that has ever looked upon a battlefield and could forget the sickening scene, or obliterate from his mind the memory of its dreaded sight?  It was recorded of the great Napoleon, by one of his most intimate friends and historians, that after every great battle the first thing he did the next day was to ride over the field, where lay the dead and wounded, and when he would come to those points where the battle had been desperate and the dead lay thickest, he would sit as in a trance, and with silence and meditation never witnessed on other occasions, view the ghastly corpses as they lay strewn over the field.  The field of carnage had a fascinating power over him he could not resist, and on which his eyes delighted to feast.  With a comrade I went to visit the field of Manassas.  Passing over the uneven and partly wooded country, we witnessed all the effect of the enemy’s rifled guns.  Trees were