CEDAR CREEK
The Winchester Regiment and the rest of the cavalry returned to the
Union army, and, on the memorable night of the eighteenth of October,
they were north of Cedar Creek with the Eighth Corps, most of the men
being then comfortably asleep in tents. A courier had brought word to
General Wright that all was quiet in front, and the same word was sent
to Sheridan, who, returning, had come as far as Winchester where he
slept that night, expecting to rejoin his command the next day.
But there were men of lower rank than Wright and Sheridan who were
uneasy, and particularly so Sergeant Daniel Whitley, veteran of the
plains, and of Indian ambush and battle. None of the Winchester
officers had sought sleep either in the tents or elsewhere, and, in the
night, Dick stood beside the suspicious sergeant and peered into the
fog.
"I don't like it," said the veteran. "Fogs ain't to be taken lightly.
I wish this one hadn't come at this time. I'm generally scared of most
of the things I can't see."
"But what have we to be afraid of?" asked Dick. "We're here in strong
force, and the enemy is too weak to attack."
"The Johnnies are never too weak to attack. Rec'lect, too, that this
is their country, and they know every inch of it. I wish Mr. Shepard
was here."
"I think he was detailed for some scout duty off toward the Blue Ridge."
"I don't know who sent him, but I make bold to say, Mr. Mason, that he
could do a lot more good out there in the fog on the other side of
Cedar Creek, a-spyin' and a-spyin', a-lookin' and a-lookin',
a-listenin' and a-listenin'."
"And perhaps he would neither see nor hear anything"
"Maybe, sir, but if I may make bold again, I think you're wrong. Why,
I just fairly smell danger."
"It's the fog and your fear of it, sergeant."
"No, sir; it's not that. It's my five senses working all together and
telling me the truth."
"But the pickets have brought in no word."
"In this fog, pickets can't see more'n a few yards beyond their beats.
What time is it, Mr. Mason?"
"A little past one in the morning, sergeant."
"Enough of the night left yet for a lot of mischief. I'm glad, sir, if
I may make bold once more, that the Winchester men stay out of the
tents and keep awake."
Warner joined them, and reported that fresh messengers from the front
had given renewed assurances of quiet. Absolutely nothing was stirring
along Cedar Creek, but Sergeant Daniel Whitley was still dissatisfied.
"It's always where nothin' is stirrin' that most is doin', sir," he
said to Dick.
"You're epigrammatic, sergeant."
"I'm what, sir? I was never called that before."
"It doesn't depreciate you. It's a flattering adjective, but you've
set my own nerves to tingling and I don't feel like sleeping."
"It never hurts, sir, to watch in war, even when nothing happens. I
remember once when we were in a blizzard west of the Missouri, only a
hundred of us. It was in the country of the Northern Cheyennes, an' no
greater fighters ever lived than them red demons. We got into a kind
of dip, surrounded by trees, an' managed to build a fire. We was so
busy tryin' to keep from freezin' to death that we never gave a thought
to Indians, that is 'ceptin' one, the guide, Jim Palmer, who knowed
them Cheyennes, an' who kept dodgin' about in the blizzard, facin' the
icy blast an' the whirlin' snow, an' always lookin' an' listenin'. I
owe my life to him, an' so does every other one of the hundred. Shore
enough the Cheyennes come, ridin' right on the edge of the blizzard,
an' in all that terrible storm they tried to rush us. But we'd been
warned by Palmer an' we beat 'em off at last, though a lot of good men
bit the snow. I say again, sir, that you can't ever be too careful in
war. Do everything you can think of, and then think of some more. I
wish Mr. Shepard would come!"
They continued to walk back and forth, in front of the lines, and, at
times, they were accompanied by Colonel Winchester or Warner or
Pennington. The colonel fully shared the sergeant's anxieties. The
fact that most of the Union army was asleep in the tents alarmed him,
and the great fog added to his uneasiness. It came now in heavy drifts
like clouds sweeping down the valley, and he did not know what was in
the heart of it. The pickets had been sent far forward, but the vast
moving column of heavy whitish vapor hid everything from their eyes,
too, save a circle of a few yards about them.
Toward morning Dick, the colonel and the sergeant stood together,
trying to pierce the veil of vapor in front of them. The colonel did
not hesitate to speak his thought to the two.
"I wish that General Sheridan was here," he said.
"But he's at Winchester," said Dick. "He'll join us at noon."
"I wish he was here now, and I wish, too, that this fog would lift, and
the day would come. Hark, what was that?"
"It was a rifle shot, sir," said the sergeant.
"And there are more," exclaimed Dick. "Listen!"
There was a sudden crackle of firing, and in front of them pink dots
appeared through the fog.
"Here comes the Southern army!" said Sergeant Whitley.
Out of the fog rose a tremendous swelling cry from thousands of
throats, fierce, long-drawn, and full of menace. It was the rebel
yell, and from another point above the rising thunder of cannon and
rifles came the same yell in reply, like a signal. The surprise was
complete. Gordon had hurled himself upon the Union flank and at the
same moment Early, according to his plan, drove with all his might at
the center.
Dick was horrified, and, for a moment or two, the blood was ice in his
veins.
"Back!" cried Colonel Winchester to him and the sergeant, and then
after shouting, "Up men! Up!" he blew long and loud upon his whistle.
All of his men were on their feet in an instant, and they were first to
return the Southern fire, but it had little effect upon the torrent
that was now pouring down upon them. Other troops, so rudely aroused
from sleep, rushed from their tents, still dazed, and firing wildly in
the fog.
Again that terrible yell arose, more distinct than ever with menace and
triumph, and so great was the rush of the men in gray that they swept
everything before them, their rifles and cannon raking the Union camp
with a withering fire. The Winchesters, despite their quickness to
form in proper order, were driven back with the others, and the whole
corps, assailed with frightful force on the flank also, was compelled
continually to give ground, and to leave long rows of dead and wounded.
"Keep close to me!" shouted Colonel Winchester to his young officers,
and then he added to the sergeant, who stood beside him: "Whitley, you
were right!"
"I'm sorry to say I was, sir," replied the sergeant. "It was a great
ambush, and it's succeeding so far."
"But we must hold them! We must find some way to hold them!" cried the
colonel.
He said more, but it was lost in the tremendous uproar of the firing
and the shouting. All the officers were dismounted--their horses
already had been taken by the enemy--and now, waving their swords, they
walked up and down in front of the lines, seeking to encourage their
own troops. Despite the surprise and the attack from two sides, the men
in blue sustained their courage and made a stubborn fight.
Nevertheless the attack in both front and flank was fatal. Again and
again they sought to hold a position, but always they were driven from
it, leaving behind more dead and wounded and more prisoners.
Dick's heart sank. It was bitter to see a defeat, after so many
victories. Perhaps the fortunes of the South had not passed the zenith
after all! If Sheridan were defeated and driven from the valley, and
Lee's flank left protected, Grant might sit forever before him at
Petersburg and not be able to force his trenches. All these thoughts
and fears swept before him, vague, disconnected, and swift.
But he saw that Warner, Pennington and the colonel were still unhurt,
and that the Winchesters, despite their exposed position, had not
suffered as much loss as some of the other regiments. General Wright
in the absence of Sheridan retained his head, and formed a strong core
of resistance which, although it could not yet hold the ground, might
give promise of doing so, if help arrived.
Dawn came, driving the fog away, and casting a red glow over the field
of battle. The ground where the Union troops had slept the night
before was now left far behind, and the Southern army, full of fire and
the swell of victory, was pushing on with undiminished energy, its
whole front blazing with the rapid discharge of cannon and rifles.
The terrible retreat lasted a long time, and the whole Union army was
driven back a full five miles before it could make a permanent stand.
Then, far in the morning, the regiments reformed, held their ground,
and Dick, for the first time, took a long free breath.
"We've been defeated but not destroyed," he said.
"No, we haven't," said a voice beside him, "but the fact that the
Johnnies were so hungry has saved us a lot."
It was Shepard, who seemed to have risen from the ground.
"I've got back from places farther north," he said. "Chance kept me
away from here last night."
"What do you mean about the Southern hunger helping us?" asked Dick.
"I've been on the flank, and I saw that when they drove us out of our
camps the temptation was too great for many of their men. They
scattered, seizing our good food and devouring it. It was impossible
for their officers to restrain them. They've suffered losses too, and
they can drive us no farther."
Then Shepard spoke briefly with Colonel Winchester, and disappeared
again. The fire had now died somewhat and the banks of smoke were
rising, enabling Dick to see the field with a degree of clearness.
Union batteries and regiments were in line, but behind them a mass of
fugitives, who had not yet recovered from the surprise and who thought
the defeat complete, were pouring along the turnpike toward Winchester.
When Dick saw their numbers his fears were renewed. He believed that
if the Southern army could gather up all its forces and attack once
more it would win another success.
But while he looked at the long line of fire in front of them a sudden
roar of cheering rose from the Union ranks. It became a shout,
tremendous and thrilling. Dick turned in excitement and he was about
to ask what it meant, when he distinguished a name thundered again and
again:
"Sheridan! Sheridan! Sheridan!"
Then before them galloped their own Little Phil, seeming to bring
strength, courage and victory with him. His hat was thrown back, his
face flushed, and his eyes sparkling. Everywhere the men rallied to
his call and the shouts: "Sheridan! Sheridan!" rolled up and down.
The fugitives too came pouring back to swell the line of battle. Dick
caught the enthusiasm at once, and felt his own pulses leaping. He and
Pennington and Warner joined in the shouts: "Sheridan! Sheridan!" and
snatching off their caps waved them with all their vigor.
It was an amazing transformation. A beaten and dispirited army,
holding on from a sense of duty, suddenly became alive with zeal, and
asked only to be led against the enemy by the general they trusted.
One man alone had worked the miracle and as his enemies had truly said
his presence was worth ten thousand men.
His coming had been dramatic. He had spent the night quietly at
Winchester, but, early in the morning, he had heard the sounds of
firing which steadily grew louder. Apprehensive, he rode at once
toward the distant field, and, before he had gone two miles, he met the
first stragglers, bringing wild tales that the army had been routed,
and that the Southerners were hot on their heels. Sheridan rode
rapidly now. He met thicker streams of fugitives, but turned them back
toward the enemy, and when he finally came upon the field itself he
brought with him all the retreating regiments.
Dick never beheld a more thrilling and inspiring sight than that which
occurred when Sheridan galloped among them, swinging his hat in his
hand.
"What troops are these?" he had asked.
"The Sixth Corps!" hundreds of voices shouted in reply.
"We are all right! We'll win!" cried Sheridan.
And then, as he galloped along the line he added:
"Never mind, boys, we'll whip 'em yet! We'll whip 'em yet! We'll
sleep in their quarters tonight!"
The roar of cheering swept up and down the line again, and Sheridan and
his officers began to prepare the restored army for a new battle. All
the time the Union numbers swelled, and, as the Southern army was
hesitating, Sheridan was able to post his divisions as he pleased.
The Winchester regiment was drawn up towards the flank. All the
officers were still on foot, but they stood a little in front, ready to
lead their men into the new battle. It was now about noon, and there
was a pause in the combat, enabling the smoke to lift yet higher, and
disclosing the whole field. Sheridan was still riding up and down the
lines, cool, determined and resolved to turn defeat into victory.
Wherever he went he spoke words of encouragement to his troops, but all
the time his eye, which was the eye of a true general, swept the field.
He put the gallant young Custer with his cavalry on the right, Crook
and Merritt with their horse on the left, while the infantry were
massed in the center. The Winchester men were sent to the right.
The doubts in the ranks of the South helped Sheridan. Early after his
victory in the morning was surprised to see the Union army gather
itself together again and show such a formidable front. Neither he nor
his lieutenants could understand the sudden reversal, and the pause,
which at first had been meant merely to give the troops opportunity for
fresh breath, grew into a long delay. Here and there, skirmishers were
firing, feeling out one another, but the masses of the army paid no
attention to those scattered shots.
The Winchester men were elated. Colonel Winchester and the young
officers knew that delay worked steadily for them. All the defeated
troops of the morning were coming back into line, and now they were
anxious to retrieve their disaster. Dick, through his glasses, saw
that the Confederates so far from continuing the advance were now
fortifying behind stone fences and also were spreading across the
valley to keep from being flanked on either side by the cavalry. But
he saw too that their ranks were scanty. If they spread far enough to
protect their flanks they would become dangerously thin in the center.
He handed his glasses to the sergeant, and asked him to take a look.
"Their surprise," said Whitley, "has spent its force. Their army is
not big enough. Our general has seen it, and it's why he delays so
long. Time works for us, because we can gather together much greater
numbers than they have."
The delay lasted far into the afternoon. The smoke and dust settled,
and the October sun gleamed on cannon and bayonets. Dick's watch
showed that it was nearly four o'clock.
"We attack today surely," said Pennington, who was growing nervous with
impatience.
"Don't you worry, young man," said Warner. "The two armies are here in
line facing each other and as it would be too much trouble to arrange
it all again tomorrow the battle will be fought today. The whole
program will be carried out on time."
"I think," said Dick, "that the attack is very near, and that it's we
who are going to make it. Here is General Sheridan himself."
The general rode along the line just before the Winchesters and nodded
to them approvingly. He came so close that Dick saw the contraction of
his face, and his eager burning look, as if the great moment had
arrived. Suddenly, he raised his hand and the buglers blew the fierce
notes of the charge.
"Now we go!" cried Pennington in uncontrollable excitement, and the
whole right wing seemed to lift itself up bodily and rush forward. The
men, eager to avenge the losses of the morning, began to shout, and
their cheers mingled with the mighty tread of the charge, the thunder
of the cannon and the rapid firing of thousands of rifles. They knew,
too, that Sheridan's own eye was upon them, and it encouraged them to a
supreme effort.
Infantry and cavalry swept on together in an overwhelming mass. Cannon
and rifles sent a bitter hail upon them, but nothing could stop their
rush. Dick felt all his pulses beating heavily and he saw a sea of
fire before him, but his excitement was so intense that he forgot about
danger.
The center also swung into the charge and then the left. All the
divisions of the army, as arranged by Sheridan, moved in perfect time.
The soldiers advanced like veterans going from one victory to another,
instead of rallying from a defeat. The war had not witnessed another
instance of such a quick and powerful recovery.
Dick knew, as their charge gathered force at every step, that they were
going to certain triumph. The thinness of the Southern lines had
already told him that they could not withstand the impact of Sheridan.
A moment later the crash came and the whole Union force rushed to
victory. Early's army, exhausted by its efforts of the morning, was
overwhelmed. It was swept from the stone fences and driven back in
defeat, while the men in blue, growing more eager as they saw success
achieved, pressed harder and harder.
No need for bugle and command to urge them on now. The Southern army
could not withstand anywhere such ardor and such weight. Position
after position was lost, then there was no time to take a new stand,
and the defeat became a rout. Early's army which had come forward so
gallantly in the morning was compelled to flee in disorder in the
afternoon. The brave Ramseur, fighting desperately, fell mortally
wounded, Kershaw could save but a few men, Evans held a ford a little
while, but he too was soon hurled from it. The Invincibles were driven
on with the rest, cannon and wagons were lost, and all but the core of
Early's force ceased to exist.
The sun set upon the Union army in the camps that it had lost in the
fog of the morning. It had been driven five miles but had come back
again. It had recovered all its own guns, and had taken twenty-four
belonging to the South. It was the most complete victory that had yet
been won by either side in the war, and it had been snatched from the
very jaws of defeat and humiliation. Small wonder that there was great
rejoicing in the ranks of northern youth! Despite their immense
exertions and the commands of their officers they could not yet lie
down and sleep or rest. Now and then a tremendous cheer for Little Phil
who had saved them arose. Huge bonfires sprang up in the night, where
they were burning the captured Confederate ambulances and wagons,
because they did not have the horses with which to take them away.
Long after the battle was over, Dick's heart beat hard with exertion
and excitement. But he shared too in the joy. He would not have been
human, and he would not have been young if he had not. Warner and
Pennington and he had collected four more small wounds among them, but
they were so slight that they had not noticed them in the storm and
fury of the battle. Colonel Winchester had not been touched.
When Dick was at last able to sit still, he joined his comrades about
one of the fires, where they were serving supper to the victors.
Shepard had just galloped back from a long ride after the enemy to say
that they had been scattered to the winds, and that another surprise
was not possible, because there were no longer enough Southern soldiers
in the valley to make an army.
"They made a great effort," said Colonel Winchester. "We must give
them credit for what they achieved against numbers and resources. They
organized and carried out their surprise in a wonderful manner, and
perhaps they would be the victors tonight if we didn't have such a
general as Sheridan."
"It was a great sight," said Warner, "when he appeared, galloping
before our line, calling upon us to renew our courage and beat the
enemy."
"One man can influence an army. I've found out that," said Dick.
They rose and saluted as General Sheridan walked past with some of the
higher officers. He returned the salutes, congratulated them on their
courage and went on. After a long while the exhausted victors fell
asleep.
* * * *
That night a band of men, a hundred perhaps, entered the woods along
the slopes of the Massanuttons. They were the remains of the
Invincibles. Throughout those fatal hours they had fought with all the
courage and tenacity for which they had been famous so long and so
justly. In the heat and confusion of the combat they had been
separated from the other portions of Early's army, and, the Northern
cavalry driving in between, they had been compelled to take refuge in
the forest, under cover of darkness. They might have surrendered with
honor, but not one among them thought of such a thing. They had been
forced to leave their dead behind them, and of those who had withdrawn
about a third were wounded. But, their hurts bandaged by their
comrades, they limped on with the rest.
The two colonels were at the head of the sombre little column. It had
seemed to Harry Kenton as they left the field that each of them had
suddenly grown at least ten years older, but now as they passed within
the deep shadows they became erect again and their faces grew more
youthful. It was a marvelous transformation, but Harry read their
secret. All the rest of the Invincibles were lads, or but little more,
and they two middle-aged men felt that they were responsible for them.
In the face of defeat and irretrievable disaster they recovered their
courage, and refused to abandon hope.
"A dark sunset, Hector," said Colonel Talbot, "but a bright dawn will
come, even yet."
"Who can doubt it, Leonidas? We won a glorious victory over odds in
the morning, but when a million Yankees appeared on the field in the
afternoon it was too much."
"That's always the trouble, Hector. We are never able to finish our
victories, because so many of the enemy always come up before the work
is done."
"It's a great pity, Leonidas, that we didn't count the Yankees before
the war was started."
"It's too late now. Don't call up a sore subject, Hector. We've got
to take care of these lads of ours, and try to get them across the
mountain somehow to Lee. It's useless to seek Early and we couldn't
reach him if we tried. He's done for."
"Alas! It's true, Leonidas! We're through with the valley for this
autumn at least, and, since the organization of the army here is broken
up, there is nothing for us to do but go to Lee. Harry, is this a high
mountain?"
"Not so very high, sir," replied Harry Kenton, who was just behind him,
"but I don't think we can cross it tonight."
"Maybe we don't want to do so," said Colonel Talbot. "You boys have
food in your knapsacks, taken from the Union camps, which we held for a
few short and glorious hours. At least we have brought off those
valuable trophies, and, when we have climbed higher up the mountain
side, we will sup and rest."
The colonel held himself very erect, and spoke in a firm proud tone. He
would inspire a high spirit into the hearts of these boys of his, and
in doing so he inspired a great deal of it into his own. He looked
back at his column, which still limped bravely after him. It was too
dark for him to see the faces of the lads, but he knew that none of
them expressed despair.
"That's the way, my brave fellows," he said. "I know we'll find a warm
and comfortable cove higher up. We'll sleep there, and tomorrow we'll
start toward Lee. When we join him we'll whip Grant, come back here
and rout Sheridan and then go on and take Washington."
"Where I mean yet, sir, to sleep in the White House with my boots on,"
said the irrepressible Happy.
"You are a youth frivolous of speech, Thomas Langdon," said Colonel
Leonidas Talbot gravely, "but I have always known that beneath this
superficiality of manner was a brave and honest heart. I'm glad to see
that your courage is so high."
"Thank you, sir," said Happy sincerely.
Half way up the mountain they found the dip they wished, sheltered by
cedars and pines. Here they rested and ate, and from their covert saw
many lights burning in the valley. But they knew they were the lights
of the victorious foe, and they would not look that way often.
The October winds were cold, and they had lost their blankets, but the
dry leaves lay in heaps, and they raked them up for beds. The lads,
worn to the bone, fell asleep, and, after a while, only the two
colonels remained awake.
"I do not feel sleepy at all, Hector," said Colonel Leonidas Talbot.
"I could not possibly sleep, Leonidas," said Lieutenant Colonel St.
Hilaire.
"Then shall we?"
"Why not?"
Colonel Talbot produced from under his coat a small board, and
Lieutenant Colonel St. Hilaire took from under his own coat a small box.
They put the board upon a broad stone, arranged the chessmen, as they
were at the latest interruption, and, as the moonlight came through the
dwarfed pines and cedars, the two gray heads bent over the game.