53. LIII.
JACKSON RETURNING TO “HIS PROPERTY.”
Artillery was immediately hurried forward, and a furious
fire opened on the column. The scene which followed was
striking. At one moment the turnpike was black with the long
lines of Federal cavalry and artillery moving rapidly toward
Winchester—and then, as the cannon suddenly opened their grim
mouths, and the shell tore through the Federal column, the
cavalry broke in a panic, scattered in every direction, and the
dark figures disappeared like flying phantoms in the woods.
Where an instant before had been seen the long dense column,
you could now discern only horses writing in the agonies of
death, and the forms of the dead and dying.
The Federal artillery and infantry, which brought up the rear,
was cut off, and made vain efforts to defend itself. The guns
took position and opened furiously, but Taylor's infantry charged
them; they were hastily limbered up, and then were seen thundering,
at full gallop, back toward Strasburg, from which place
they escaped with the infantry to the western mountains.
Ashby had now advanced with his whole cavalry, and was in
hot pursuit of the disordered Federal horse and the wagon train.
The scene which ensued was one of wild disorder. The men
stopped to ransack the heavily laden wagons in rear; and the
consequence was, that the long trains in front were enabled to
make good their escape. Worse still, this delay enabled the
Federal commander to organize a rear-guard; and, when Jackson's
infantry pressed on, it was saluted with a heavy fire of
artillery.
The General was furious, and hot words passed between him
and Ashby—now Brigadier-General, and responsible for the
conduct of all the cavalry.
“But for this shameful conduct,” exclaimed Jackson, “General
Banks would have reached Winchester without a wagon train,
if not without an army.”[1]
Ashby made a haughty reply, which I did not hear—and for
many days the rupture between them was not healed.
Driving before him the Federal rear-guard, Jackson now continued
to press forward with his infantry—the column moved all
night, fighting at every step—and at daylight on the next morning
the roofs of Winchester were seen shining in the sunlight.
General Banks occupied the town, and, finding that he was
determined to make a stand on the high ground in the suburbs,
Jackson made instant dispositions for an assault. Ewell was
directed to attack on the right, from the Front Royal road, and,
taking command in person of his left wing, Jackson threw forward
a heavy line, supported by a determined fire of artillery,
and charged the Federal forces occupying the high ground west
of the town.
Nothing stops troops who believe that they are driving before
them a demoralized enemy. The Federal forces made a resolute
stand, and their first line, behind a stone wall, bravely held that
position, although the stones were dashed into a thousand pieces
by round shot. But the Southern line carried every thing before
it. It swept down the slope in front—advanced at a double-quick
across the intervening space, under a furious fire from the
enemy's artillery, and, mounting the opposing slope, charged
the Federal line with the bayonet.
For an instant I could make out nothing through the smoke—
no sound was heard but the dull roar of artillery, and the sharp
rattle of musketry. Then a loud cheer rose from the hill, and, as
the smoke drifted, I saw the Federal forces in full retreat, pursued
by their opponents.
At the same moment, wild shouts arose on the right, where
Ewell had been thundering with his artillery. I saw his line
sweep forward, with glittering bayonets, driving the Federal
infantry from a heavy stone wall and other cover; and, galloping
forward, I entered the town just as the two columns united, and
the Federal forces scattered, and hastened in full retreat through
the streets.
The spectacle was exciting. The streets were full of men,
women, and children, who seemed wild with joy. It is scarcely
an exaggeration to say that they appeared crazed for the moment.
They ran to and fro, shouting, cheering, laughing—every window
waved with handkerchiefs, fluttering in the hands of ladies—and
such was the crowd of these latter in the streets that the advance
of the Southern troops was actually impeded by them. They
seemed to pay not the least attention to the balls whistling
around them; and many persons witnessed, and can testify to the
curious fact, that a detail of men had to be sent in advance, to
make the groups of girls give way, in order that the platoons
might deliver their fire.
Never before or afterward did I see Jackson so much carried
away as upon this occasion. As men, women, and children flocked
around him, grasping his hand, touching his clothes, and saluting
him with cheers and exclamations, his face flushed, his eyes
sparkled, and, waving his old cap in the air, he uttered a cheer—
the first and last I ever heard from his lips.
Then he pushed ahead of the crowd; followed at full gallop
he retreating enemy; and was soon so close that, fearing they
would turn and fire on him, I said:
“Don't you think you are exposing yourself too much, General?”
“No, Major!” he exclaimed, “they can't hurt me! Go back
and tell the army to press right on to the Potomac!”[2]
The enemy were pursued for some miles beyond Winchester
by the infantry, and then the cavalry continued to harass them
until they crossed the Potomac, near Martinsburg.
General Banks was thus driven completely from the Valley, and
such was the haste of his departure that he left behind him
immense stores, which fell into Jackson's hands. The troops
ransacked the sutlers' stores, which their owners had fled and
abandoned—and the citizens of Winchester still relate with
laughter the story of a fat old Dutchman who lost his all. He
knew that Jackson was coming back, he said; he had heard
a horn blowing beyond Fort Royal, then at Middletown, then
near Winchester; and this horn said plainly, louder and louder
as it came, “Who's been here since I's been gone?” That
horn was Jackson's, and he it was who was demanding in his
terrible voice who had intruded on his property. So, exit
Mynheer in the direction of Martinsburg—from which place he
returned after the withdrawal of the rebels, to find only empty
boxes in his store-rooms, and to exclaim in despair, with hands
uplifted, “Who's been here since
I's been gone?”
The Federal troops, who saw all, shared this feeling, that the
region around Winchester belonged to Jackson, and that he was
coming back to take possession of “his property.” More than
once I heard that groups of lounging soldiers had suddenly
started and risen to their feet when some practical-joke-loving
individual exclaimed, “Jackson is coming!”—and one had fallen
backward from a lofty stool at this announcement, convinced
that the fearful clutch of the blood-thirsty Stonewall was on his
shoulder.
That awful cannibal had now come back, made a meal on
General Banks, and entered into possession of his property.
Unfortunately, however, his tenure of it was to be very brief.
