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By Root 801 0

him bravely fighting a relentless enemy—loading and firing, then loading again, even as the sun blazed down and his shoulders ached and enemy bullets whizzed past his head. I didn’t see him advancing forward, the earth shaking, fire flashing from the barrels of enemy rifles aimed at him, his eyes red and watery with smoke and dust. I couldn’t know that his ears rang from the deafening din until he could no longer hear the command signals, and that the Confederate line around him had faltered and fallen back. Nor did I know how he’d watched so many of his friends suddenly drop beside him, writhing, screaming, dying, and he’d stumbled over their bodies as he’d retreated. While I’d sipped mint tea, Charles had witnessed death in combat for the first time, the nauseating sight of a man’s body torn apart, his guts spilled.

The first news came to us on that quiet Sunday in Richmond when Charles’ father hurried home from Capitol Square late in the afternoon. “The fighting began this morning near Manassas Junction,” he told us. “It has been going on all day.”

I prayed as I never have before and later learned that a miracle had occurred as General “Stonewall” Jackson’s brigade held the hill at the center of the Confederate line, and General Johnston’s reinforcements arrived, and the tide of battle changed in the Rebels’ favor. Charles knew the dizzying euphoria of victory as he raced forward behind a fleeing enemy, kicking aside their discarded haversacks and cartridge belts and blankets, strewn along the road.

Charles’ father returned to the capitol to await more news, for the telegram that finally arrived saying, “Night has closed on a hard-fought field. . . . Our forces have won a glorious victory.” General Beauregard, the hero of Fort Sumter, had routed Union General McDowell.

As Monday dawned, wet and dreary, I wondered if it had all been a dream. Could it really be true that the South had won a great victory so close to the Union capital? Sally and I waited in her carriage outside the Enquirer office for more news, with rain drumming steadily on the carriage roof, dripping from the building’s eaves, and running down the cobbled streets. Slowly the reports arrived, not only confirming our great victory on that bloody Sunday but also telling of a spectacular Union rout. The Yankees had panicked and fled before the Rebels, littering the road with equipment and baggage as they retreated to Washington in a stampede. Spectators who had driven out on that lovely Sunday afternoon to watch the battle had been nearly trampled by their own retreating soldiers. The cries of “On to Richmond” were silenced by cries of fear that their own capital might now be threatened with invasion.

I overheard many of Richmond’s politicians speculating that Lincoln would sue for peace as a result of this stunning loss. After experiencing such bloodshed so close to their own homes, the people up north would lose heart for war.

Sally and I hugged each other in joy, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to truly celebrate this good news until we learned whether or not Charles and Jonathan were safe. Any victory, especially a hard-fought one, meant casualties. After receiving the news, we returned home—while many of Richmond’s citizens began making preparations for the avalanche of casualties that was certain to follow.

On Tuesday I went to the central depot with all the other women to await news of our soldiers. Rumors circulated that a list would be posted, company by company, naming the men who had been wounded, who were missing, and who had died in battle. Sally and I waited, clutching each other’s hand.

The train from Manassas finally arrived, returning President Davis to the city from the battlefield. Along with him came the first victims of the conflict. The dead arrived in pine boxes, stacking up at the depot in alarming numbers, awaiting shipment home. The wounded arrived on crutches and on stretchers and on makeshift pallets—more and more of them every hour. As I stood scanning their shocked, pale faces, praying that I wouldn’t see Charles