The keen Englishman who had observed the beauty of the Virginian woods on “Bull Run Sunday,” said, after the battle was lost, “I hope Senator Wilson is satisfied.”  He was sneering at the whole group of intemperate Senators none of whom had ever smelled powder, but who knew it all when it came to war; who had done their great share in driving the President and the generals into a premature advance.  Senator Wilson was one of those who went out to Manassas to see the Confederacy overthrown, that fateful Sunday.  He was one of the most precipitate among those who fled back to Washington.  On the way, driving furiously, amid a press of men and vehicles, he passed a carriage containing four Congressmen who were taking their time.  Perhaps irritated by their coolness, he shouted to them to make haste.  “If we were in as big a hurry as you are,” replied Congressman Riddle, scornfully, “we would.”

These four Congressmen played a curiously dramatic part before they got back to Washington.  So did a party of Senators with whom they joined forces.  This other party, at the start, also numbered four.  They had planned a jolly picnic—­this day that was to prove them right in hurrying the government into battle!—­and being wise men who knew how to take time by the forelock, they had taken their luncheon with them.  From what is known of Washington and Senators, then as now, one may risk a good deal that the luncheon was worth while.  Part of the tragedy of that day was the accidental break-up of this party with the result amid the confusion of a road crowded by pleasure-seekers, that two Senators went one way carrying off the luncheon, while the other two, making the best of the disaster, continued southward through those beautiful early hours when Russell was admiring the scenery, their luncheon all to seek.  The lucky men with the luncheon were the Senators Benjamin Wade and Zachary Chandler.  Senator Trumbull and Senator Grimes, both on horseback, were left to their own devices.  However, fortune was with them.  Several hours later they had succeeded in getting food by the wayside and were resting in a grove of trees some distance beyond the village of Centerville.  Suddenly, they suffered an appalling surprise; happening to look up, they beheld emerging out of the distance, a stampede of men and horses which came thundering down the country road, not a hundred yards from where they sat.  “We immediately mounted our horses,” as Trumbull wrote to his wife the next day, “and galloped to the road, by which time it was crowded, hundreds being in advance on the way to Centerville and two guns of Sherman’s battery having already passed in full retreat.  We kept on with the crowd, not knowing what else to do.  We fed our horses at Centerville and left there at six o’clock....  Came on to Fairfax Court House where we got supper and, leaving there at ten o’clock reached home at half past two this morning. . . .  I am dreadfully disappointed and mortified."(1)