The loss in this engagement was small for the amount of shooting done. The Confederates' loss was about twenty and the Yankees' about one hundred. This engagement on the 18th made General McDowell stop and ponder until the 21st of July, when the battle of Manassas was fought, and won by the Confederates.
About sundown on the 18th the Eleventh Regiment and Early's Brigade relieved the troops who had been engaged, taking position along the run above and below the ford, where they remained on the _qui vive_ all night and the next day, without seeing or hearing of a single Yankee.
The trees and bushes along and in the rear of the line of battle were scarred by big and little shot. The Yankees, being above on the bluff, overshot the Confederates.
Up on the bluff we saw the first dead Yankee—he lay stark and cold in death upon the hillside among the trees in the gloom of the gathering twilight: the pale face turned towards us, upon which we looked with feelings mingled with awe and dread. We had heard and seen many new and strange things that day. Later on in the war, we could look upon the slain on the battlefield with little less feeling than upon the carcass of an animal. Such are some of the hardening effects of war. I don't think we were again as badly scared as on that day; I was not, I am sure.
Longstreet's Brigade remained at and near Blackburn's Ford all through the 19th and 20th of July, waiting for and expecting another attack, discussing the events of the battle, and conjecturing as to what would be the next move in the game of war. I remember talking with Lieut. Jim Hord of Company H along this line, when he remarked, "There will be a big battle Sunday—most all of the big fights come off on Sunday." This prophecy came true. The brigade had received its baptism of fire, the nerves and mettle of the men had been tried, and while it was a nerve-racking ordeal, yet all had stood the test, so far as I remember, except one officer in command of a company in the Eleventh Regiment, whose nerve seemed to fail him. He was taken sick and collapsed; was taken to the rear and never returned to his company.
I think if it had not been for pride and regard for reputation, a good many of us would have been like a negro cook in Company C: George, who belonged to my brother-in-law, Robert Cocke, and had been with the company as one of the cooks, brought down from the camp at Manassas about noon on the 18th some cooked rations, and when the battle commenced, was back in the rear near the hospital. When the Yankee shells began to fall and burst in his vicinity, George broke and ran for dear life back to camp, stopping only long enough to say, "Dem big balls come flying over me saying, 'Whar is you? whar is you?' an' I lit out from dar in a hurry," and away he went up the railroad track four miles to Bristow Station. The boys laughed at George a great many times about his ignominious flight; George, however, never expressed a regret that he took to his heels and made good time out of danger.