Harry was awakened at the first shoot of dawn by the sound of trumpets.
It was now approaching the last of May and the cold nights had long
since passed. A warm sun was fast showing its edge in the east, and,
bathing his face at a brook and snatching a little breakfast, he was
ready. Stonewall Jackson was already up, and his colored servant was
holding Little Sorrel for him.
The army was fast forming into line, the new men of Ewell resolved to
become as famous foot cavalry as those who had been with Jackson all
along. Ewell himself, full of enthusiasm and already devoted to his
chief, was riding among them, and whenever he spoke to one of them he
cocked his head on one side in the peculiar manner that was habitual
with him. Now and then, as the sun grew warmer, he took off his hat and
his bald head gleamed under the yellow rays.
“Which way do you think we're going?” said the young staff officer,
George Dalton, to Harry--Dalton was a quiet youth with a good deal of
the Puritan about him and Harry liked him.
“I'm not thinking about it at all,” replied Harry with a laugh. “I've
quit trying to guess what our general is going to do, but I fancy that
he means to lead us against the enemy. He has the numbers now.”
“I suppose you're right,” said Dalton. “I've been trying to guess all
along, but I think I'll give it up now and merely follow where the
general leads.”
The bugles blew, the troops rapidly fell into line and marched northward
along the turnpike, the Creole band began to play again one of those
lilting waltz tunes, and the speed of the men increased, their feet
rising and falling swiftly to the rhythm of the galloping air. Jackson,
who was near the head of the column, looked back and Harry saw a faint
smile pass over his grim face. He saw the value of the music.
“I never heard such airs in our Presbyterian church,” said Dalton to
Harry.
“But this isn't a church.”
“No, it isn't, but those Creole tunes suit here. They put fresh life
into me.”
“Same here. And they help the men, too. Look how gay they are.”
Up went the shining sun. The brilliant blue light, shot with gold,
spread from horizon to horizon, little white clouds of vapor, tinted
at the edges with gold from the sun, floated here and there. It was
beautiful May over all the valley. White dust flew from the turnpike
under the feet of so many marching men and horses, and the wheels of
cannon. Suddenly the Georgia troops that had suffered so severely at
McDowell began to sing a verse from the Stars and Bars, and gradually
the whole column joined in:
“Now Georgia marches to the front
And close beside her come
Her sisters by the Mexique sea
With pealing trump and drum,
Till answering back from hill and glen
The rallying cry afar,
A nation hoists the Bonnie Blue Flag
That bears a single star.”
It was impossible not to feel emotion. The face of the most solemn
Presbyterian of them all flushed and his eyes glowed. Now the band, that
wonderful band of the Acadians, was playing the tune, and the mighty
chorus rolled and swelled across the fields. Harry's heart throbbed
hard. He was with the South, his own South, and he was swayed wholly by
feeling.
The Acadians were leading the army. Harry saw Jackson whispering
something to a staff officer. The officer galloped forward and spoke to
Taylor, the commander of the Louisiana troops. Instantly the Acadians
turned sharply from the turnpike and walked in a diagonal line through
the fields. The whole army followed and they marched steadily northward
and eastward.
Harry had another good and close view of the Massanuttons, now one
vast mass of dark green foliage, and it caused his thoughts to turn to
Shepard. He had no doubt that the wary and astute Northern scout was
somewhere near watching the march of Stonewall. He had secured a pair of
glasses of his own and he scanned the fields and forests now for a
sight of him and his bold horsemen. But he saw no blue uniforms, merely
farmers and their wives and children, shouting with joy at the sight of
Jackson, eager to give him information, and eager to hide it from Banks.
But Harry was destined to have more than another view of the
Massanuttons. Jackson marched steadily for four days, crossing the
Massanuttons at the defile, and coming down into the eastern valley.
The troops were joyous throughout the journey, although they had not the
least idea for what they were destined, and Ewell's men made good their
claim to a place of equal honor in the foot cavalry.
They were now in the division of the great valley known as the Luray,
and only when they stopped did Harry and his comrades of the staff learn
that the Northern army under Kenly was only ten miles away at Front
Royal.
The preceding night had been one of great confidence, even of
light-heartedness in Washington. The worn and melancholy President felt
that a triumphant issue of the war was at hand. The Secretary of War was
more than sanguine, and the people in the city joyfully expected
speedy news of the fall of Richmond. McClellan was advancing with an
overwhelming force on the Southern capital, and the few regiments of
Jackson were lost somewhere in the mountains. In the west all things
were going well under Grant.
It was only a few who, recognizing that the army of Jackson was lost to
Northern eyes, began to ask questions about it. But they were laughed
down. Jackson had too few men to do any harm, wherever he might be.
Nobody suspected that at dawn Jackson, with a strong force, would be
only a little more than three score miles from the Union capital itself.
Even Banks himself, who was only half that distance from the Southern
army, did not dream that it was coming.
When the sun swung clear that May morning there was a great elation
in this army which had been lost to its enemies for days and which the
unknowing despised. They ate a good breakfast, and then, as the Creole
band began to play its waltzes again, they advanced swiftly on Front
Royal.
“We'll be attacking in two hours,” said Dalton.
“In less time than that, I'm thinking,” said Harry. “Look how the men
are speeding it up!”
The band ceased suddenly. Harry surmised that it had been stopped,
in order to suppress noise as much as possible, now that they were
approaching the enemy. Cheering and loud talking also were stopped,
and they heard now the heavy beat of footsteps, horses and men, and the
rumble of vehicles, cannon and wagons. The morning was bright and hot.
A haze of heat hung over the mountains, and to Harry the valley was more
beautiful and picturesque than ever. He had again flitting feelings of
melancholy that it should be torn so ruthlessly by war.
If Shepard and other Northern scouts were near, they were lax that
morning. Not a soul in the garrison at Front Royal dreamed of Jackson's
swift approach. They were soon to have a terrible awakening.
Harry saw Jackson raise the visor of his old cap a little, and he saw
the eyes beneath it gleam.
“We must be near Front Royal,” he said to Dalton.
“It's just beyond the woods there. It's not more than half a mile away.”
The army halted a moment and Jackson sent forward a long line of
skirmishers through the wood. Sherburne's cavalry were to ride just
behind them, and he dispatched Harry and Dalton with the captain. At the
first sound of the firing the whole army would rush upon Front Royal.
The skirmishers, five hundred strong, pressed forward through the wood.
They were sun-browned, eager fellows, every one carrying a rifle, and
all sharpshooters.
It seemed to Harry that the skirmishers were through the wood in
an instant, like a force of Indians bursting from ambush upon an
unsuspecting foe. The Northern pickets were driven in like leaves before
a whirlwind. The rattle and then the crash of rifles beat upon the ears,
and the Southern horsemen were galloping through the streets of the
startled village by the time the Northern commander, posted with his
main force just behind the town, knew that Jackson had emerged from the
wilderness and was upon him. Banks not dreaming of Jackson's nearness,
had taken away Kenly's cavalry, and there were only pickets to see.
The Northern commander was brave and capable. He drew up his men rapidly
on a ridge and planted his guns in front, but the storm was too heavy
and swift.
Harry saw the front of the Southern army burst into fire, and then a
deadly sleet of shell and bullets was poured upon the Northern force.
He and Dalton did not have time to rejoin Jackson, but they kept with
Sherburne's force as the group of wild horsemen swung around toward the
Northern rear, intending to cut it off.
Harry heard the Southern bugles playing mellow and triumphant tunes, and
they inflamed his brain. All the little pulses in his head began to beat
heavily. Millions of black specks danced before his eyes, but the air
about them was red. He began to shout with the others. The famous rebel
yell, which had in it the menacing quality of the Indian war whoop, was
already rolling from the half circle of the attacking army, as it rushed
forward.
Kenly hung to his ground, fighting with the courage of desperation, and
holding off for a little while the gray masses that rushed upon him. But
when he heard that the cavalry of Sherburne was already behind him, and
was about to gain a position between him and the river, he retreated
as swiftly as he could, setting fire to all his tents and stores, and
thundering in good order with his remaining force over the bridge.
These Northern men, New Yorkers largely, were good material, like
their brethren of Ohio and West Virginia. Despite the surprise and the
overwhelming rush of Jackson, they stopped to set fire to the bridge,
and they would have closed that avenue of pursuit had not the Acadians
rushed forward, heedless of bullets and flames, and put it out. Yet
the bridge was damaged and the Southern pursuit could cross but slowly.
Kenly, seeing his advantage, and cool and ready, drew up his men on a
hill and poured a tremendous fire upon the bridge.
Harry saw the daring deed of the men from the Gulf coast, and he clapped
his hands in delight. But he had only a moment's view. Sherburne was
curving away in search of a ford and all his men galloped close behind
him.
Near the town the river was deep and swift and the horsemen would be
swept away by it, but willing villagers running at the horses' heads led
them to fords farther down.
“Into the river, boys!” shouted Sherburne, as he with Harry and Dalton
by his side galloped into the stream. It seemed to Harry that the whole
river was full of horsemen in an instant, and then he saw Stonewall
Jackson himself, riding Little Sorrel into the stream.
Harry's horse stumbled once on the rocky bottom, but recovered his
footing, and the boy urged him on toward the bank, bumping on either
side against those who were as eager as he. He was covered with water
and foam, churned up by so many horses, but he did not notice it. In a
minute his horse put his forefeet upon the bank, pulled himself up, and
then they were all formed up by Jackson himself for the pursuit.
“They run! They run already!” cried Sherburne.
They were not running, exactly, but Kenly, always alert and cool, had
seen the passage of the ford by the Virginians, and unlimbering his
guns, was retreating in good order, but swiftly, his rear covered by the
New York cavalry.
Now Harry saw all the terrors of war. It was not sufficient for Jackson
to defeat the enemy. He must follow and destroy him. More of his army
crossed at the fords and more poured over the bridge.
The New York cavalry, despite courage and tenacity, could not withstand
the onset of superior numbers. They were compelled to give way, and
Kenly ordered his infantry, retreating on the turnpike, to turn and help
them. Jackson had not waited for his artillery, but his riflemen poured
volley after volley of bullets upon the beaten army, while his cavalry,
galloping in the fields, charged it with sabers on either flank.
Harry was scarcely conscious of what he was doing. He was slashing with
his sword and shooting with the rest. Sometimes his eyes were filled
with dust and smoke and then again they would clear. He heard the voices
of officers shouting to both cavalry and infantry to charge, and then
there was a confused and terrible melee.
Harry never remembered much of that charge, and he was glad that he did
not. He preferred that it should remain a blur in which he could not
pick out the details. He was conscious of the shock, when horse met
horse and body met body. He saw the flash of rifle and pistol shots,
and the gleam of sabers through the smoke, and he heard a continuous
shouting kept up by friend and foe.
Then he felt the Northern army, struck with such terrific force, giving
way. Kenly had made a heroic stand, but he could no longer support the
attacks from all sides. One of his cannon was taken and then all. He
himself fell wounded terribly. His senior officers also fell, as they
tried to rally their men, who were giving way at all points.
Sherburne wheeled his troop away again and charged at the Northern
cavalry, which was still in order. Harry had seen Jackson himself give
the command to the captain. It was the redoubtable commander who saw all
and understood all, who always struck, with his sword directly at the
weak point in the enemy's armor. Harry saw that eye glittering as he had
never seen it glitter before, and the command was given in words of fire
that communicated a like fire to every man in the troop.
The Northern cavalry cut to pieces, Kenly's whole army dissolved. The
attack was so terrific, so overwhelming, and was pushed home so hard,
that panic ran through the ranks of those brave men. They fled through
the orchards and the fields, and Jackson never ceased to urge on the
pursuit, taking whole companies here and there, and seizing scattered
fugitives.
Ashby, with the chief body of the cavalry, galloped on ahead to a
railway station, where Pennsylvania infantry were on guard. They had
just got ready a telegraphic message to Banks for help, but his men
rushed the station before it could be sent, tore up the railroad tracks,
cut the telegraph wires, carried by storm a log house in which the
Pennsylvanians had taken refuge, and captured them all.
The Northern army had ceased to exist. Save for some fugitives, it had
all fallen or was in the hands of Jackson, and the triumphant cheers of
the Southerners rang over the field. Banks, at Strasburg, not far away,
did not know that Kenly's force had been destroyed. Three hours after
the attack had been made, an orderly covered with dust galloped into his
camp and told him that Kenly was pressed hard--he did not know the full
truth himself.
Banks, whose own force was cut down by heavy drafts to the eastward,
was half incredulous. It was impossible that Jackson could be at Front
Royal. He was fifty or sixty miles away, and the attack must be some
cavalry raid which would soon be beaten off. He sent a regiment and two
guns to see what was the matter. He telegraphed later to the Secretary
of War at Washington that a force of several thousand rebels gathered in
the mountains was pushing Kenly hard.
Meanwhile the victorious Southerners were spending a few moments in
enjoying their triumph. They captured great quantities of food and
clothing which Kenly had not found time to destroy, and which they
joyously divided among themselves.
Harry found the two colonels and all the rest of the Invincibles lying
upon the ground in the fields. Some of them were wounded, but most
were unhurt. They were merely panting from exhaustion. Colonel Leonidas
Talbot sat up when he saw Harry, and Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St.
Hilaire also sat up.
“Good afternoon, Harry,” said Colonel Talbot, politely. “It's been a
warm day.”
“But a victorious one, sir.”
“Victorious, yes; but it is not finished. I fancy that in spite of
everything we have not yet learned the full capabilities of General
Jackson, eh, Hector?”
“No, sir, we haven't,” replied Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire,
emphatically. “I never saw such an appetite for battle. In Mexico
General Winfield Scott would press the enemy hard, but he was not
anxious to march twenty miles and fight a battle every day.”
Harry found St. Clair and Langdon not far away from their chief
officers. St. Clair had brushed the dust off his clothing, but he was
regarding ruefully two bullet holes in the sleeve of his fine gray
tunic.
“He has neither needle nor thread with which to sew up those holes,”
said Langdon, with wicked glee, “and he must go into battle again with a
tunic more holy than righteous. It's been a bad day for clothes.”
“A man doesn't fight any worse because he's particular about his
uniform, does he?” asked St. Clair.
“You don't. That's certain, old fellow,” said Langdon, clapping him
on the back. “And just think how much worse it might have been. Those
bullets, instead of merely going through your coat sleeve, might have
gone through your arm also, shattering every bone in it. Now, Harry, you
ride with Old Jack. Tell us what he means to do. Are we going to rest
on our rich and numerous laurels, or is it up and after the Yanks
hot-foot?”
“He's not telling me anything,” replied Harry, “but I think it's safe to
predict that we won't take any long and luxurious rest. Nor will we ever
take any long and luxurious rest while we're led by Stonewall Jackson.”
Jackson marched some distance farther toward Strasburg, where the army
of Banks, yet unbelieving, lay, and as the night was coming on thick and
black with clouds, went into camp. But among their captured stores they
had ample food now, and tents and blankets to protect themselves from
the promised rain.
The Acadians, who were wonderful cooks, showed great culinary skill as
well as martial courage. They were becoming general favorites, and they
prepared all sorts of appetizing dishes, which they shared freely with
the Virginians, the Georgians and the others. Then the irrepressible
band began. In the fire-lighted woods and on the ground yet stained by
the red of battle, it played quaint old tunes, waltzes and polkas and
roundelays, and once more the stalwart Pierres and Raouls and Luciens
and Etiennes, clasping one another in their arms, whirled in wild dances
before the fires.
The heavy clouds opened bye and bye, and then all save the sentinels
fled to shelter. Harry and Dalton, who had been watching the dancing,
went to a small tent which had been erected for themselves and two more.
Next to it was a tent yet smaller, occupied by the commander-in-chief,
and as they passed by it they heard low but solemn tones lifted in
invocation to God. Harry could not keep from taking one fleeting glance.
He saw Jackson on his knees, and then he went quickly on.
The other two officers had not yet come, and Dalton and he were alone in
the tent. It was too dark inside for Harry to see Dalton's face, but he
knew that his comrade, too, had seen and heard.
“It will be hard to beat a general who prays,” said Dalton. “Some of our
men laugh at Jackson's praying, but I've always heard that the Puritans,
whether in England or America, were a stern lot to face.”
“The enemy at least won't laugh at him. I've heard that they had great
fun deriding a praying professor of mathematics, but I fancy they've
quit it. If they haven't they'll do so when they hear of Front Royal.”
The tent was pitched on the bare ground, but they had obtained four
planks, every one about a foot wide and six feet or so long. They were
sufficient to protect them from the rain which would run under the tent
and soak into the ground. Harry had long since learned that a tent and a
mere strip of plank were a great luxury, and now he appreciated them at
their full value.
He wrapped himself in the invaluable cloak, stretched his weary body
upon his own particular plank, and was soon asleep. He was awakened in
the night by a low droning sound. He did not move on his plank, but lay
until his eyes became used partially to the darkness. Then he saw
two other figures also wrapped in their cloaks and stretched on their
planks, dusky and motionless. But the fourth figure was kneeling on
his plank and Harry saw that it was Dalton, praying even as Stonewall
Jackson had prayed.
Then Harry shut his eyes. He was not devout himself, but in the darkness
of the night, with the rain beating a tattoo on the canvas walls of
the tent, he felt very solemn. This was war, red war, and he was in the
midst of it. War meant destruction, wounds, agony and death. He might
never again see Pendleton and his father and his aunt and his cousin,
Dick Mason, and Dr. Russell and all his boyhood and school friends. It
was no wonder that George Dalton prayed. He ought to be praying himself,
and lying there and not stirring he said under his breath a simple
prayer that his mother had taught him when he was yet a little child.
Then he fell asleep again, and awoke no more until the dawn. But while
Harry slept the full dangers of his situation became known to Banks far
after midnight at Strasburg. The regiment and the two guns that he
had sent down the turnpike to relieve Kenly had been fired upon so
incessantly by Southern pickets and riflemen that they were compelled
to turn back. Everywhere the Northern scouts and skirmishers were driven
in. Despite the darkness and rain they found a wary foe whom they could
not pass.
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when Banks was aroused by a
staff officer who said that a man insisted upon seeing him. The man,
the officer said, claimed to have news that meant life or death, and he
carried on his person a letter from President Lincoln, empowering him to
go where he pleased. He had shown that letter, and his manner indicated
the most intense and overpowering anxiety.
Banks was surprised, and he ordered that the stranger be shown in at
once. A tall man, wrapped in a long coat of yellow oilcloth, dripping
rain, was brought into the room. He held a faded blue cap in his hand,
and the general noticed that the hand was sinewy and powerful. The front
of the coat was open a little at the top, disclosing a dingy blue coat.
His high boots were spattered to the tops with mud.
There was something in the man's stern demeanor and his intense, burning
gaze that daunted Banks, who was a brave man himself. Moreover, the
general was but half dressed and had risen from a warm couch, while
the man before him had come in on the storm, evidently from some great
danger, and his demeanor showed that he was ready for other and instant
dangers. For the moment the advantage was with the stranger, despite the
difference in rank.
“Who are you?” asked the general.
“My name, sir, is Shepard, William J. Shepard. I am a spy or a scout
in the Union service. I have concealed upon me a letter from President
Lincoln, empowering me to act in such a capacity and to go where I
please. Do you wish to see it, sir?”
Shepard spoke with deference, but there was no touch of servility in his
tone.
“Show me the letter,” said Banks.
Shepard thrust a hand into his waistcoat and withdrew a document which
he handed to the general. Banks glanced through it rapidly.
“It's from Lincoln,” he said; “I know that handwriting, but it would not
be well for you to be captured with that upon you.”
“If I were about to be captured I should destroy it.”
“Why have you come here? What message do you bring?”
“The worst possible message, sir. Stonewall Jackson and an army of
twenty thousand men will be upon you in the morning.”
“What! What is this you say! It was only a cavalry raid at Front Royal!”
“It was no cavalry raid at Front Royal, sir! It was Jackson and his
whole army! I ought to have known, sir! I should have got there and have
warned Kenly in time, but I could not! My horse was killed by a rebel
sharpshooter in the woods as I was approaching! I could not get up in
time, but I saw what happened!”
“Kenly! Kenly, where is he?”
“Mortally wounded or dead, and his army is destroyed! They made a brave
stand, even after they were defeated at the village. They might have got
away had anybody but Jackson been pursuing. But he gave them no chance.
They were enveloped by cavalry and infantry, and only a few escaped.”
“Good God!” exclaimed Banks, aghast.
“Nor is that all, sir. They are close at hand! They will attack you
at dawn! They are in full force! Ewell's army has joined Jackson and
Jackson leads them all! We must leave Strasburg at once or we are lost!”
Shepard's manner admitted of no doubt. Banks hurried forth and sent
officers to question the pickets. All the news they brought was
confirmatory. Even in the darkness and rain shots had been fired at
them by the Southern skirmishers. Banks sent for all of his important
officers, the troops were gathered together, and leaving a strong
rear-guard, they began a rapid march toward Winchester, which Jackson
had loved so well.
Swiftness and decision now on the other side had saved the Northern army
from destruction. Banks did not realize until later, despite the urgent
words of Shepard, how formidable was the danger that threatened him.
Jackson, despite all the disadvantages of the darkness and the rain,
wished to get his army up before daylight, but the deep mud formed by
the pouring rain enabled Banks to slip away from the trap.
The Southern troops, moreover, were worn to the bone. They had come
ninety miles in five days over rough roads, across streams without
bridges, and over a high mountain, besides fighting a battle of uncommon
fierceness. There were limits even to the endurance of Jackson's foot
cavalry.
Harry was first awake in the little tent. He sat up and looked at the
other three on their planks who were sleeping as if they would never
wake any more. A faint tint of dawn was appearing at the open flap of
the door. The four had lain down dressed fully, and Harry, as he sprang
from his board, cried:
“Up, boys, up! The army is about to move!”
The three also sprang to their feet, and went outside. Although the dawn
was as yet faint, the army was awakening rapidly, or rather was being
awakened. The general himself appeared a moment later, dressed fully,
the end of a lemon in his mouth, his face worn and haggard by incredible
hardships, but his eyes full of the strength that comes from an
unconquerable will.
He nodded to Harry, Dalton and the others.
“Five minutes for breakfast, gentlemen,” he said, “and then join me on
horseback, ready for the pursuit of the enemy!”
The few words were like the effects of a galvanic battery on Harry.
Peculiarly susceptible to mental power, Jackson was always a stimulus
to him. Close contact revealed to him the fiery soul that lay underneath
the sober and silent exterior, and, in his own turn, he caught fire from
it. Youthful, impressionable and extremely sensitive to great minds
and great deeds, Stonewall Jackson had become his hero, who could do no
wrong.
Five minutes for the hasty breakfast and they were in the saddle just
behind Jackson. The rain had ceased, the sun was rising in a clear sky,
the country was beautiful once more, and down a long line the Southern
bugles were merrily singing the advance. Very soon scattered shots all
along their front showed that they were in touch with the enemy.
The infantry and cavalry left by Banks as a curtain between himself and
Jackson did their duty nobly that morning. The pursuit now led into a
country covered with forest, and using every advantage of such shelter,
the Northern companies checked the Southern advance as much as was
humanly possible. Many of them were good riflemen, particularly those
from Ohio, and the cavalry of Ashby, Funsten and Sherburne found the
woods very warm for them. Horses were falling continually, and often
their riders fell with them to stay.
Harry, in the center with the commander, heard the heavy firing to both
right and left, and he glanced often at Jackson. He saw his lips move as
if he were talking to himself, and he knew that he was disappointed at
this strong resistance. Troops could move but slowly through woods in
the face of a heavy rifle fire, and meanwhile Banks with his main body
was escaping to Winchester.
“Mr. Kenton,” said Jackson sharply, “ride to General Ashby and tell him
to push the enemy harder! We must crush at least a portion of this army!
It is vital!”
Harry was off as soon as the last words left the general's lips. He
spurred his horse from the turnpike, leaped a low rail fence, and
galloped across a field toward a forest, where Ashby's cavalry were
advancing and the rifles were cracking fast.
Bullets from the Northern skirmishers flew over him and beside him, as
he flew about the field, but he thought little of them. He was growing
so thoroughly inured to war that he seldom realized the dangers until
they were passed.
Neither he nor his horse was hurt--their very speed, perhaps, saved them
and they entered the wood, where the Southern cavalry were riding.
“General Ashby!” he cried to the first man he saw. “Where is he? I've a
message from General Jackson!”
The soldier pointed to a figure on horseback but a short distance away,
and Harry galloped up.
“General Jackson asks you to press the enemy harder!” he said to Ashby.
“He wishes him to be driven in rapidly!”
A faint flush came into the brown cheeks of Ashby.
“He shall be obeyed,” he replied. “We're about to charge in full force!
Hold, young man! You can't go back now! You must charge with us!”
He put his hand on Harry's rein as he spoke, and the boy saw that a
strong force of Northern cavalry had now appeared in the fields directly
between him and his general. Ashby turned the next instant to a bugler
at his elbow and exclaimed fiercely:
“Blow! Blow with all your might!”
The piercing notes of the charge rang forth again and again. Ashby,
shouting loudly and continuously and waving his sword above his head,
galloped forward. His whole cavalry force galloped with him and swept
down upon the defenders.
Nor did Ashby lack support. The Acadians led by Taylor swung forward on
a run, and a battery, coming at the double quick, unlimbered and opened
fire. Jackson had directed all, he had brought up the converging lines,
and the whole Northern rear guard, two thousand cavalry, some infantry
and a battery, were caught. Just before them lay the little village of
Middletown, and in an instant they were driven into its streets, where
they were raked by shot and shell from the cannon, while the rifles of
the cavalry and of the Louisiana troops swept them with bullets.
Again the Northern soldiers, brave and tenacious though they might be,
could make no stand against the terrible rush of Jackson's victorious
and superior numbers. They had no such leading as their foes. The man,
the praying professor, was proving himself everything.
As at Front Royal, the Northern force was crushed. It burst from the
village in fragments, and fled in many directions. But Jackson urged on
the pursuit. Ashby's cavalry charged again and again, taking prisoners
everywhere.
The people of Middletown, as red-hot for the South as were those of
Front Royal, rushed from their houses and guided the victors along the
right roads. They pointed where two batteries and a train of wagons were
fleeing toward Winchester, and Ashby, with his cavalry, Harry still at
his elbow, raced in pursuit.