in front of
our extreme left, and I sent several verbal messages to that effect by
trustworthy non-commissioned officers to General Bayard, who was near
General Pope. I began sending these messages between three and four
o'clock, and my last one was to inform him that the enemy had placed
four batteries of artillery in position, that I had counted
twenty-eight sets of colors, that more troops were moving into
position, and that if the enemy made an attack, they would strike the
Pennsylvania Reserves on the left and rear. When the sergeant who
carried this message returned, he told me that General Pope remarked to
General Bayard, "Oh, that officer don't know his business. He don't
know what he is talking about. Tell the fool that those people he sees
are General Porter's men forming on the right of the enemy." I felt
very much annoyed at this, and I don't deny that I used some very
strong language about my superior officer, though most of it was done
mentally. However, I rode rapidly over to General Reynolds, informed
him of the fact, and persuaded him to come and see for himself. One
glance was sufficient for him. He dashed back to his division and
changed front to the left to meet the attack. Those who were in the
Pennsylvania Reserves at that time can testify that the movement to the
left was hardly finished when the heavy column I had again and again
reported burst upon them, crushing their left back upon and through our
artillery, leaving the guns in the hands of the enemy. I have often
wondered _who_ was the fool,--the general or the captain.

My squadron rode along the flank of this charging column of the enemy,
and expended nearly all of its carbine ammunition upon it. They paid no
more attention to us, however, than if we were so many gnats flying in
the air. In my opinion the final repulse of the enemy was chiefly due
to a small brigade of regular infantry. It seemed to me that every line
that came in their front was wiped out. Their firing was done with
coolness and precision; their commanding officer had them well in hand.
It was a scene well worthy of the pencil of an artist; but we did not
have that kind of people with us when such opportunities occurred. I
crossed the Bull Run bridge with these regulars between sundown and
dark. At that time the enemy seemed to be retiring very rapidly, as
though they were retreating from the field. I thought at the time that
we should have been pursuing them instead of re