United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
The brief time these hasty preparations required had witnessed a marked
change in conditions without. Where before it had been a scene of
disastrous confusion, it was now that of disciplined attack. Chambers'
men had swept aside the stragglers, and spread out into battle lines,
the gray regiments massing mostly to the right of the pike, but with
heavy fringe of cavalry extending past us as far as the ravine. From my
point of vantage it all formed an inspiring picture, dully monotonous in
color, but alive with action; the long dust-covered lines, the rifle
barrels shining, the constant shifting of columns, the regiments
hurrying forward, the swift moving of cavalry, and hard riding of staff
officers, sent the hot blood leaping through my veins. And all this was
no dress review. Just ahead they were at it in deadly earnest--barely
beyond those trees, and below the edge of the hill. I could hear the
thunder of the guns, continuous, almost deafening, even at this
distance; could see the black, drifting smoke, and even the struggling
figures. We were almost within the zone of fire already. Men were down
in the ranks yonder, and a stricken horse lay just within the gate. Back
and forth, riding like mad, aides dashed out of the choking powder
fumes, in endeavor to hasten up the reserves. Even as I watched one fell
headlong from his saddle, struck dead by a stray bullet. I was soldier
enough to understand. Within ten minutes Chambers would be out there,
hurling his fresh troops against the exhausted Federal advance, while
those fellows, now fighting so desperately yonder, would fall back in
reserve. Could Chambers hold them? Could he check that victorious onrush
of blue--those men who had fought their way five bloody miles since
daybreak? I could not tell; it would be a death grapple worthy of the
gods, and the Hardy house would be in the very vortex. Whether it was
destined also to become a charnel house, a shambles, depended on the
early coming of those other, unseen men toiling up that black ravine.
Then suddenly there recurred to my memory that Major Hardy and his
daughter still remained within. They had not departed with the others,
yet in the stress and excitement their presence had slipped my mind. Nor
had I seen them since the new recruits came. What could be done with
them now, at this late hour, the house already a fortress, the enemy in
evidence everywhere? In some manner they must be gotten away at once,
safely placed within the protection of friends. Not only my friendship
for the father, and my love for the girl, demanded this, but the fact
that they were non-combatants made it imperative. There was no time to
consider methods--already we were within range of the guns, and at any
moment might be directly under fire, obliged to resist assault. I was up
the stairs even as the thought occurred, and confronted Hardy in the
upper hall. Conroy had him by the arm, suspicious of the uniform.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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