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In late June 1860, the Royal Army, under the command of General Joseph Eggleston Johnston, invaded Pennsylvania. Egged on by hot heads in Washington demanding that the rebels be punished, and the howling press crying “On to Philadelphia!” the great loyalist army marched out of Washington City, despite the misgivings of its commander. The 18,000 poorly trained volunteers easily captured York, and planned to take the provincial capital, Harrisburg, before moving on the republican capital at Philadelphia. To get there, they needed to cross the Susquehanna River at the famous Wrightsville Bridge. Rebel militiamen from Columbia, on the Lancaster County side of the river, vowed to block the loyalist advance. Rebel troops retreating from York joined them, mustering altogether 1,500 men. When the loyalist army arrived on June 28, the rebels were waiting in their entrenchments on the left bank of the river. The loyalists opened with artillery fire, and the rebels gave way. The rebels retreated across the bridge toward Columbia, blowing up a section of the over mile-long bridge behind them. The explosion failed to destroy the bridge. Thousands of the loyalist troops surged forward, but just as they were about to set foot on the opposite shore, the bridge erupted in flames. The rebels had previously saturated the bridge with oil obtained from a Columbia refinery, and now let fire engulf the men within the world’s longest covered bridge.
On June 29, the rebel army, under the command of West Point graduate George B. McClellan, crossed the Susquehanna River at Harrisburg, making a wide swing to the west and crashing down upon the rear of the now demoralized royal army. The morning mist disappeared as the hot sun rose through the almost cloudless sky on July 1. The approach of the republican army could be distinctly traced by the clouds of dust raised by the tramping of thousands of feet. The desultory firing with which the battle opened was soon followed by rapid volleys, and before long, the sharp rattling of musketry, the roar of artillery, and the yelling of soldiers, developed into a crescendo; while along the entire line, for miles, clouds of yellow dust and blue smoke arose. The rebel army came across the wide plain in beautiful order, a moving forest of steel, hundreds of regimental flags giving a russet tinge to the landscape. The army, in its thousands, came relentlessly forward, the wind rippling its flags, the sunlight sparkling from its musket barrels and bayonets. An avalanche of iron whistled, shrieked, and burst into the bodies of the men in the advancing lines. The lines shuddered, staggered for an instant, and then dissolved. But the rebels kept coming, wave after wave.
At about 4 p.m., the last royal troops were pushed off the field. The retreat was relatively orderly at first, until the cry went up, “Rebel cavalry”. An orderly retreat became a humiliating route, as soldiers streamed uncontrollably south, discarding their arms and equipment. It was impossible to rally the army short of Washington City. In the disorder that followed, thousands of loyalist troops were taken prisoner.
A more audacious commander than General Johnston might have stemmed the retreat and plucked victory from the jaws of defeat, for the army of the rebel General McClellan’s was fast disintegrating into a disorganized mob in its frenzy of pursuit and plunder. But Johnston’s overriding personality trait was caution, and his first impulse was to save the King. On the morning of July 2, he wired Prime Minister Davis, “The army is lost. Prepare to evacuate the capital.”
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The Bridge of Death