United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
I waited long enough to glance again over the scene. I was convinced
they possessed no artillery which could be spared from the front for
this small affair, and believed we were capable of making a strong
defence against musketry. With the exception of that battalion of
infantry near the gate, and the cavalry regiment in the orchard, every
organized body of troops was being hurried forward to strengthen their
line of battle. Even General Chambers and his staff had disappeared over
the hill, and every sound that reached us evidenced a warm engagement.
The stream of wounded soldiers flowing back across the pike was
thickening, and Federal shells were already doing damage at
this distance.
"I thank you for your information," I said civilly, "but we shall
endeavor to hold the house."
"You mean to fight!"
"Yes--if you wish this place you will have to come and take it."
He drew back his horse, yet with head turned, hopeful I might say more.
But I stepped back through the window, and as I disappeared he clapped
in his spurs, and rode out into the orchard. A moment later the
dismounted troopers spread out into a thin line, covering the front and
left of the house, unslung their carbines and began to load. Something
about the way they went at it convinced me they expected no very serious
resistance. A word to my men on that floor brought them to the point
threatened by this first attack, and I gave them swift, concise
orders--no firing until they heard a signal shot from the front hall;
then keep it up while there was a man standing in range; carbines first,
after that revolvers, and keep down out of sight from below. I looked
into their faces, confident of obedience, and then ran down stairs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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