It was too much for the raw recruits of the North. They had marched and fought with dogged courage since two o'clock before day--without pause for food or drink. It was now four in the afternoon and the blazing sun of July was pouring its merciless rays down on their dust-covered and smoke-grimed faces without mercy. McDowell's right wing was crumpled like an eggshell between the combined charges front and rear. It broke and rushed back in confusion on his center. The whole army floundered a moment in tangled mass. In vain their officers shouted themselves hoarse proclaiming their victory and ordering them to rally. Wild, hopeless, senseless, unreasoning panic had seized the Union army. They threw down their guns in thousands and started at breakneck speed for Washington. With every jump they cursed their idiotic commanders for leading them blindfolded into the jaws of hell. At least they had common sense enough left to save what was left. The fields were covered with black swarms of flying soldiers. They cut the horses from the gun carriages, mounted them and dashed forward trampling down the crazed mobs on foot. As the shouting, screaming throng rushed at the Cub Run bridge, a well directed shot from Kemper's battery smashed a team of horses that were crossing. The wagon was upset and the bridge choked. In mad efforts to force a passage mob piled on mob until the panic enveloped every division of the army that thirty minutes before was sweeping with swift, sure tread to its final victorious charge. Across every bridge and ford of Bull Run the panic-stricken thousands rushed pellmell, horse, foot, artillery, wagons, ambulances, excursion carriages, red-jowled politicians mingling with screaming women whose faces showed death white through the rouge on their lips and cheeks. For three miles rolled the dark tide of ruin and confusion--with not one Confederate soldier in sight. It was three o'clock before the train bearing the anxious Confederate President and his staff drew into Manassas Junction. He had heard no news from the front and feared the worst. The long deep boom of the great guns told him that the battle was raging. From the car window he saw rising an ominous cloud of dust rapidly approaching the Junction. To his trained eye it could mean but one thing--retreat. He sprang from the car and asked its meaning of a pale trembling youth in disheveled, torn gray uniform. Billy Barton turned his bloodshot eyes on the President. His teeth were chattering. "M-m-eaning of w-what?" he stammered. "That cloud of dust coming toward the station?" Billy stared in the direction the President pointed. "Why, that's the--the--w-w-wagoners--they're trying to save the pieces I reckon--" "The army has been pushed back?" the President asked. "No, sir--they--they never p-p-ushed 'em back! They--they just jumped right on top of 'em and made hash out of 'em where they stood! Thank God a few of us got away."