this surprise was not a hopeless panic among their men. As it was, for
several minutes utter confusion reigned. Then one of the companies took
to the woods on the right, the other entering the woods on the left,
and marching back they presently came in sight of their pursuers, still
pushing on pell-mell in the road. The militia now had every advantage,
and Colonel Ashley ordered them to open fire. But the men hesitated.
There, intermingled with the rebels, their very lineaments plainly to be
seen, were the prisoners, the first gentlemen of Stockbridge and of the
county. To pour a volley in upon the rebels would endanger the lives
of the prisoners as much as those of the enemy. Meanwhile the rebels
themselves were rapidly deploying and opening fire. The militia were in
danger of losing all their advantage, of being shot down defenseless,
of perhaps losing the day, all owing to the presence of the prisoners
in the enemy's ranks. Again Colonel Ashley gave the order to fire. Again
not a man obeyed.
“We can't kill our friends,” said an officer.
“God have mercy on their souls, but pour in your fire!” roared the
commander, and the volley was given. The prisoners broke from the ranks
of the enemy and ran; the firing became general. For five or ten minutes
a brisk engagement was kept up, and then the rebels broke and fled
in every direction. The Stockbridge and Lenox companies after having
followed the rebels through Great Barrington and on toward Sheffield had
also turned in after them on the back road, and coming up behind in the
nick of time had attacked their rear and caused their panic.
Only two of the militia had been wounded, one mortally. One also of the
prisoners had proved in need of Colonel Ashley's invocation. Solomon
Gleason had fallen dead at the first volley from his friends. It was
generally supposed that his death was the result of a chance shot, but
Peleg Bidwell was never heard to express any opinion on the subject, and
Peleg was a very good marksman.
As the smoke of the last shot floated up among the tops of the gloomy
pines along the road, some thirty killed and wounded rebels lay on
the trampled and blood-stained snow. Abner Rathbun, mortally wounded,
writhed at the foot of a tree, and near by lay Perez Hamlin quite dead.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Duke of Stockbridge, by Edward Bellamy