“I hear the distant thunder-hum, Maryland! The Old Line bugle, fife, and drum, Maryland!” “Gawd!” thought Steve. “They got me at last! I can’t get away—I can’t get back ’cross the river! Why’d I drink that stuff that was like cider ’n’ whistled me back jest as easy? Why’d I leave Thunder Run? They got me in a trap—” Maryland Heights was strongly fortified, too strongly for Breckinridge and Gordon, demonstrating against it, to drive out the blue forces. After a day Early swept on through the passes of South Mountain, toward Frederick, east and south of which town runs the Monocacy. On this stream there formed to meet the grey a portion of the blue Eighth Army Corps and Rickett’s division of the Sixteenth Corps, six thousand men under General Lew Wallace. There were earthworks and two blockhouses and they over-frowned the two bridges that crossed the Monocacy. Beyond these and on either side the blue lines, strongly seen in the clear, hot forenoon, were fields with board fences and straw stacks, much stout fencing and many and closely ranged straw stacks. Through these fields ran the clear road to Washington, blocked now at the river by Wallace and his men. Jubal Early sent McCausland across, who dismounted his cavalrymen and with them fell so furiously on the enemy’s left flank that it broke. It gathered again and pushed McCausland back, whereupon Early sent across by the same ford Breckinridge with Gordon’s division, Ramseur in the mean time skirmishing on the western bank with the blue’s advanced front. Gordon attacked with his usual gallantry, King’s and Nelson’s artillery supporting. The blue centre broke and rolled back from the banks of Monocacy. Ramseur and Rodes now crossed with a shout, and at a double all grey troops swept forward. Steve crossed Monocacy because he must, and climbed several fences because he saw that if he didn’t he would be trampled. But in the straw field he fell, groaning. “Hit?” asked the man beside him and was immediately gone, the regiment rushing forward. Steve drew himself well behind a great straw stack, splitting the advance like a spongy Gibraltar. Here he found a more or less like-minded private from one of the Georgia regiments. This one had quite deeply burrowed, and Steve, noting the completeness of his retirement, tore out for himself a like cavern in the straw. Outside was shouting and confusion and smoke; in here was space at least in which to have a vision of the clear security of Thunder Run Mountain. “You wounded, too?” proffered from behind a straw partition his fellow retirer. “Yaas,” answered Steve. “In the foot.”