descends in the West, glowers down upon them, through the murky air,
like a great, red, glaring eye,--the very thought is terrible!

Without fear, yet equally without hope, the Union troops crumble to
groups, and then to individuals. The attempt of McDowell to turn the
left of the Enemy's Bull Run line, has failed.

McDowell and his officers heroically but vainly strive, at great
personal risk to themselves, to stem the tide of confusion, and
disorder. Sykes's battalion of regulars, which has been at our left,
now steadily moves obliquely across the field of battle toward our
right, to a hill in the midground, which it occupies, and, with the aid
of Arnold's Battery and Palmer's Cavalry, holds, while the exhausted and
disorganized troops of the Union Army doggedly and slowly retire toward
Sudley Ford, their rear covered by an irregular square of Infantry,
which, mainly by the exertions of Colonel Corcoran, has been formed to
resist a threatened charge of Stuart's Cavalry.

[At the rate of "not more than two, or two and a half, miles an
hour," and not "helter-skelter," as some narrators state.]

It is not fear, that has got the better of our Union troops. It is
physical exhaustion for one thing; it is thirst for another. Men must
drink,--even if they have foolishly thrown away their canteens,--and
many have retired to get water. It is the moral effect also--the
terrible disappointment--of seeing what they suppose are Johnston's
fresh troops from the Shenandoah Valley, without Patterson "on their
heels," suddenly appear on their flank and rear. It is not fear; though
some of them are panic-stricken, and, as they catch sight of Stuart's
mounted men,--no black horse or uniform among them,--raise the cry of