Think of these men, famished, sleepless, drinkless, after fighting through the fiery noon of a hot day, suddenly overwhelmed in the midst of a positive victory—called upon to fight another battle, while every breath came pantingly, from thirst, and every nerve quivered with the overtax of its natural strength. Think of them under the hoofs of the Black Horse cavalry, and swept down by the very batteries that had been their protection. Think of all this, and if men of military standing can condemn them, war is a cruel master, and warriors hard critics. It is very easy for civilians, who sit in luxurious parlors and sip cool ices under the protection of the old flag, to sneer at this panic of Bull Run, but many a brave man—braver than their critics, or they would not have been in the ranks—was found even in the midst of that stampede. What if all along the road were the marks of hurried flight—abandoned teams, dead horses, wasted ammunition, coats, blankets? Were there not dead and dying men there also? brave and hardy spirits, noble, generous souls, crushed beneath the iron hoof of war—sacrificed and dying bravely in retreat, as they had fought in the advance? Never on this earth did the proud old American valor burn fiercer or swell higher than on that day and field. And a reproach to the heroes who left the impress of bravery, and gave up their lives on that red valley, should never come from any true American heart. THE BATTLE ON THE LEFT WING. On the morning of the 21st, according to McDowell’s plan of battle, the left wing, composed of Colonel Miles’ division, was stationed at Centreville and at Blackburn’s Ford, the scene of Tyler’s disaster on the 18th. Thus during the heat and struggle of that awful day the greater portion of the left wing was six miles from the centre of action. But notwithstanding, no better service was rendered to the country on that day than that of this comparatively small handful of men. The first brigade of this command, under Colonel Blenker, occupied the heights of Centreville. The second brigade, under Colonel Thomas A. Davies, of New York, and Richardson’s brigade, were ordered by Colonel Miles to take position before the batteries at Blackburn’s Ford, near the battle-ground of the 18th, to make demonstrations of attack. In pursuance of General McDowell’s order, Colonel Davies, being ranking officer, took command of Richardson’s brigade. On his route from Centreville in the morning, when about half way to Blackburn’s Ford, Colonel Davies, while conversing with the guide who rode by him, saw a country road, apparently little used, leading through the woods to the left. “That road,” said the guide, a fine, intelligent fellow, “will give position farther left and nearer the enemy, for it runs directly to Beauregard’s headquarters.”