Tidball spent as much time providing commentary as he did commanding his battery that day. Situated as he was on a secondary front far from the fighting, however, he could do nothing to satisfy his visitors. Most of the sightseers were evidently disappointed at what they saw, or rather did not see, recorded Tidball. They no doubt expected to see a battle as represented in the pictures.

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The most distinguished of Tidball’s visitors was the troika of Senators Wilson, Wade, and Lane. Tidball recorded that all three were full of the ‘on to Richmond’ fever–impatient to see more of the battle than Tidball’s overlook offered. Lane, a Mexican War veteran, was particularly intent, declaring that he must have a hand in it [the battle] himself. When someone pointed out that he lacked a gun, he retorted, I can easily find a musket on the field. Lane led the trio on foot across the fields toward the Warrenton Turnpike, where a close encounter with battle (a victorious one, of course) seemed more likely.

Wilson, Wade, and Lane would indeed find a better vantage point–the best available to any of the Manassas spectators, and one available to only a select few. The senators’ cross-country trek would bring them to the Warrenton Turnpike at a spot about a mile east of the more-famous-by-the-minute Stone Bridge over Bull Run. There, a ridge overlooking the bridge and stream afforded the best view to be had of the battlefield, short of being in the midst of it. Beyond the bridge, variable crescendos of musketry and artillery fire rolled across the landscape; white smoke rose over the distant battlefield; and occasionally, a skittering line of battle was seen between the white billows.

During the battle’s early hours, only a small knot of civilians had managed to get to this place–a half-dozen reporters, the aspiring politico Taylor, the prominent Ohio judge Daniel McCook, and one of his sons. (McCook was scion of perhaps the Civil War’s most militaristic family; 16 of his kin would serve.) As word of the Union’s morning successes filtered back to Centreville, however, more civilians, like the senatorial triumvirate of Lane, Wade, and Wilson, trickled onto the ridge. Those who got to the overlook (which is today a huge quarry, hundreds of feet deep) were generally the well-connected and the literate: a half-dozen senators, a dozen representatives, and sundry other scribes and voyeurs, probably not more than 50 in all. Although these lucky few were but a fraction of the probably 500 civilians who ventured forth that Sunday to watch the battle, these were the men who would write of their experiences and thereby convey as typical an experience that properly belonged to only a few.

Most of these civilians arrived at the overlook fired by good news and optimism. Judge McCook had been there all day with his son Edwin, his carriage parked only a few hundred yards behind the battle line of the 2d Ohio, in which another of his sons, Charles, toiled as an officer. While the intensity of events beyond the stream rose during the day, the mood at McCook’s outpost was relaxed–so much so that he invited his officer–son Charles to leave his regiment and lunch with him.

By 4:00 p.m. the politicians had lost most of their inhibitions about involving themselves with military affairs. Congressman Washburne, who was present on the ridge, even took it upon himself to reconnoiter for Colonel Robert C. Schenck’s Ohio brigade at the bridge. Washburne spotted the enemy, then beseeched Schenck to take a look himself.

At the Stone Bridge–now in Union hands–New York Herald correspondent Henry Villard frantically asked directions to McDowell’s headquarters. No one could tell him, and the journalist watched in some puzzlement as the tide of blue-clad refugees along the Warrenton Turnpike grew. After 20 minutes, Villard spotted a familiar staff officer, and repeated his query for McDowell. You won’t find him, came the shocking response. All is chaos in front. The battle is lost. Our troops are giving way and falling back without orders. Get back to Centreville.

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