Keeping a reserve here, a portion of the brave eleven hundred were now to strike a decisive blow; but the enemy’s infantry was hidden, and they did not know just how to proceed. On the south side of Middle Creek, to the right of the place where the artillery was stationed, rose a high hill. Around it wound the creek, and following the creek ran a narrow, rocky road. The entire force of Marshall, except his reserve, was in fact hidden in the fastnesses of that irregular, forest-covered hill, and so placed as to command this road, by which it was expected that the Federal troops would approach. But “the best laid plans” sometimes go wrong. The Yankee was not to be entrapped. Suspecting some such situation, Garfield sent his escort of twelve men down the road; around the hill they clattered at a gallop, in full view of the enemy. The ruse worked well, and the sudden fire of several thousand muskets revealed the coveted secret. The riders returned safely, and then the battle began. Four hundred men of the Fortieth and Forty-second Ohio, under Major Pardee, quickly advanced up the hill in front, while two hundred of the Fourteenth Kentucky, under Lieutenant-Colonel Monroe, went down the road some distance and endeavored, by a flank movement, to so engage a portion of the rebels that not all of them could be turned against Pardee. The latter now charged up the hill under a heavy fire. They were inferior in numbers, but determined to reach the summit some way. So they broke ranks at the cry of “Every man to a tree,” and fought after the Indian fashion. After all, the Union boys were not altogether at a disadvantage. Their opponents were raw troops, and after the manner of inexperienced men they aimed too high, while the Federals did much better execution. But Marshall meant business at this important hour, and sent his reserve to swell the number. A charge was made down the hill. Now the boys in blue retreat; but not far. Garfield goes in with _his_ reserves. Captain Williams calls, “To the trees again, my boys;” they rally; the fight grows hotter and whistling death is in the air. The critical moment is here, and those poor fellows down below are about to be crushed. The exultant Confederates rush down in swelling volume, the wolf is about to seize his prey. But now a faint, though cheerful shout rings across the narrow valley; then louder it grows while the echoes clatter back from hillside to hillside like the tumult of ten thousand voices. The Confederates above peer out through the branches and view the opposite road. Every face, just flushed with hopes of victory, now turns pale at the sight. The force from Paintville has come at last. The hard-pressed men of Pardee can see nothing, but they catch new inspiration from the sound. They answer back; while to the thousand voices and the ten thousand echoes on the Union side, one word of reply is given from the rebel commander’s mouth. And the word he utters is—RETREAT.