Sprague and his Rhode Islanders prevailed that morning on Matthew’s Hill, driving the Confederates away in haste just as McDowell had envisioned. Of all this, however, the distant and growing pods of civilians near Centreville knew little.

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Throughout the morning and early afternoon, steady streams of would-be spectators found their way to the heights at Centreville, fully five miles from the battlefield. They came in all manner of ways, wrote a Union officer, some in stylish carriages, others in city hacks, and still others in buggies, on horseback, or even on foot. Apparently everything in the shape of vehicles in and around Washington had been pressed into service for the occasion.

Shortly after 1:00 p.m., the most famous news correspondent on the field, William H. Russell of the London Times, crested the Centreville ridge. Russell recalled the slopes were covered with men, carts, and horses while spectators crowned the summit. To the west, a vast panorama lay before the audience: forest and field against the backdrop of the Bull Run Mountains, 15 miles distant. The civilian horde looked intently into the scene, but could divine little. Congressman Alfred Ely of New York, who had also just arrived, noted that the thick woods hid from our view all the troops, although the smoke of the battle was plainly seen, and the deep-throated roar of the artillery distinctly heard. Russell scanned the supposed battlefield intently with his glass, but, as he wrote in what would be the most famous recounting of the Bull Run disaster, I failed to discover any traces of close encounter or very severe fighting.

For most civilians present that day, the experience was less a visual feast than a forum for wanton speculation. Russell noted that they were all excited, especially one woman with an opera glass. She was quite beside herself when a louder-than-usual volley echoed from the distant battlefield. That is splendid, she exclaimed. Oh my! Is that not first-rate? I guess we will be in Richmond this time tomorrow.

A handful of soldiers made their way among the spectators, offering commentary and interpretation of the unseen battle beyond Bull Run. At one point, the crowd stood rapt when an officer galloped up the Warrenton Turnpike from the direction of the battlefield (credentials enough, apparently, for the spectators to assume his word reliable). He waved his cap and conveyed stunning news: We’ve whipped them at all points. We have taken their batteries. They are retreating as fast as they can, and we are after them.

The crowd atop the hill loosed a cheer that rent the welkin, said Russell. Congressmen shook hands. Bully for us! Bravo! Didn’t I tell you so? they exclaimed. To those perched safely on the heights of Centreville, it seemed the battle could not be going better.

For curious reporters and congressmen–many determined to record rather than speculate on the proceedings–the view from Centreville was simply not enough, so several ventured closer to get a better look. Without much idea of how the battle would unfold, many headed south toward Blackburn’s Ford, along Centreville-Manassas Road, where a preliminary fight had raged on July 18. On a ridge about a mile southeast of Centreville, Captain John Tidball had positioned his battery that morning–part of the force calculated to keep the Confederates’ attention away from the Union flanking column to the north. Tidball watched with some amusement as civilians thronged to his position, hoping to see or learn something momentous.

All manner of people were represented in this crowd, from [the] most grave and noble senators to hotel waiters, wrote Tidball. (Tidball noted tellingly, however, that he saw none of the other sex there, except a few huxter women who had driven out in carts loaded with pies and other edibles.) They pulled up with their carriages much as we do to a Saturday morning soccer game–strewing their vehicles along the roadsides. Once the shoulders of the road filled, the drivers pulled into the fields behind the battery, hitching their horses to bushes. All of them made a beeline to Tidball’s battery. I was plied with questions innumerably, sighed the captain.

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