Blenker, of Miles’ division, whose duty up to this time had been one of inaction at Centreville, now did good service at his important post. With three regiments he kept the road, expecting every moment to be assailed by an overpowering and victorious enemy, eager to complete his fatal work. As the darkness increased, the peril of his position became imminent. At eleven o’clock the attack came upon the advance company of Colonel Stahel’s rifles, from a body of the enemy’s cavalry, which was, however, driven back, and did not return. At this time Richardson and Davies were both in Centreville with their brigades, which composed the entire left wing, all well organized and under perfect command. These troops were put under the command of Colonel Davies, who led them off the field—Blenker’s brigade being the last to leave the town it had done so much to protect. The cause of this stupendous stampede no one ever has or can explain. Cowardice it certainly was not. Those men had fought too bravely, and suffered too patiently for that charge to be brought against them. They were in fact victorious soldiers, for the rout of a single half hour, disastrous as it proved, should have no power to blot out the deeds of heroism that had marked the entire day. Was it excitement, acting on an exhausted frame? Let those answer who bore the flag of our Union through the long hours of that July day, carried it under the hot sun through the fierce fight, the dust and smoke and carnage, when the sky was one mosaic of flame, and the earth groaned under the vibrations of artillery. They had marched twelve miles fasting, and with but one draught of water; marched without pause straight on to the battle field, and for nearly five hours fought bravely as men ever fought on earth. Many who had food found no time to eat it till the battle was at its close, but in the rash eagerness for the field, these men, new to the necessities of war, had flung their rations away, restive under the weight. They had started not far from midnight, from camps in a tumult of preparation, and therefore lacked sleep as well as food. To all this was added THIRST—that hot, withering thirst, which burns like lava in the throat, and drives a man mad with craving. Panting for drink, their parched lips were blackened with gunpowder; and exhausted nature, when she clamored for food, was answered by the bitter saltness of cartridges ground between the soldiers’ teeth.