57. LVII.
ASHBY'S WHITE HORSE.
The army reached and crossed the Shenandoah near Newmarket:
it was Ashby's duty now, when his cavalry had passed,
to destroy the bridge behind him.
Having carried him the message conveying Jackson's wishes as
to the time and manner of destroying it, I was a witness of the
scene which followed.
The wagons, prisoners, and infantry had all defiled over the
bridge, the enemy following closely on their rear, and it required
Ashby's most vigorous efforts and utmost skill in disposing his
cavalry, with the fire of the artillery from the hill south of the
river, to keep back the pursuing force long enough to enable
every thing to get over. At last, however, this important object
was achieved; notice was given that the last brigade was over,
and Ashby began to cross with his cavalry and artillery.
A strong rear-guard still faced the on-pressing enemy, skirmishing
hotly as they slowly fell back; and under cover of this
force, commanded by Ashby in person, the cavalry column and
guns clattered over the bridge.
Ashby now fell slowly back with the rear-guard, obstinately
contesting every step; and never shall I forget the chivalrie
spectacle which he presented, mounted on his superb white
horse, as fearless and defiant as himself. The swarthy face, with
its heavy black beard, glowed with martial ardor; in the flashing
eyes might be read the joy of conflict; and, with drawn
sabre, on his spirited animal, he resembled some knight of the
Middle Ages, asking nothing better than an opportunity to meet
all comers.
The rear-guard was finally across, and, ordering the column to
move rapidly on and join the main body, Ashby selected eight
men, and proceeded rapidly to set fire to the wood-work of the
bridge.
In this, however, he was suddenly met by a serious obstacle.
The timbers were saturated by the recent rains, and it was found
impossible to kindle the combustibles which had been collected.
To his inexpressible chagrin, Ashby saw the Federal cavalry
coming at headlong speed down the turnpike on the opposite
side of the bridge; and in an instant a storm of bullets whistled
round the heads of the working party, who exhibited unmistakable
signs of “demoralization.”
Ashby ordered them, hotly, to attend to the work before
them; but the Federal cavalry had now dashed on, and were
thundering over the bridge, which had just kindled.
In spite of Ashby's stern and passionate orders, the men ran
to their horses, and another volley whistled among them, completing
their panic.
In an instant they were in the saddle, and disgracefully fled,
without thinking of their commander. I found myself alone
beside General Ashby, who sat his white horse with wrathful
countenance—half resolved, it seemed, to charge the whole
Federal column, and die sword in hand rather than fly.
A single moment only was now left in which to decide upon
our course. The enemy were nearly across the bridge, charging
with loud cheers, and firing as they came.
“Let us give them a shot at least, Surry,” he said.
And levelling his revolver, he emptied, in succession, every
barrel, and I imitated him.
Then nothing was left but flight or capture; and an exciting
race commenced.
We were pursued by a whole detachment, who followed us
with loud orders to halt.
“I am sorry my pistol is emptied,” said Ashby, looking grimly
over his shoulder; “but if it comes to the sabre, I'll try to give a
good account of some of them.”
We galloped on at full speed, followed closely by our pursuers,
who were excellently mounted.
“Those must be stolen horses,” said my companion coolly.
“See that tall fellow on the black—it is a superb animal.”
“Which?” I said, laughing, “the man or the horse?”
As I spoke, a bullet grazed my neck, bringing the blood.
“Pay for your jest,” was Ashby's reply. “Look out, the whole
party are going to fire!”
A volley followed, and the next moment I heard Ashby utter
something like a growl.
“Look!” he said, pointing to his horse's side.
I saw that a bullet had inflicted a deep wound, from which the
blood was streaming.
“Some one shall suffer for that!”
And the moment for carrying out the threat speedily came.
Weary of the ineffectual chase, the cavalry all stopped with
the exception of two, who continued the pursuit, apparently from
mere bravado. The time had arrived for Ashby's revenge.
Wheeling suddenly round, his sabre flashing at the same instant
from his scabbard, he charged straight upon the two cavalry-men,
and with one whirl of his weapon nearly severed the head
of one of them from the body. Cut completely out of the saddle,
the man fell, inert as a corpse, in the road—and at the same
moment a ball from the rear-guard of cavalry, which we had
nearly reached, penetrated the breast of the second, who also
fell from his seat.[1]
Ashby then returned his sabre to the scabbard, and coolly rode
on to the head of his column.
The infantry had halted, and, on reaching the point where they
were drawn up, my companion found that his white horse could
go no further. He dismounted, and, gazing in silence upon the
noble animal which had borne him safely through so many
bloody encounters, seemed as much grieved as if he were about
to part with some valued friend.
The wound was mortal, and caressing gently, for a few moments,
the arched neck of his favorite, Ashby turned away in
silence. The horse was led off by one of the men; and never
shall I forget the superb appearance of the wounded charger as
he passed along the line of infantry. Panting with his hard run,
foaming at the month, and covered with sweat—his splendid
head carried proudly erect—his eyes full of fire—he seemed inspired
with human hatred for the enemy, and to defy them to
the last.
I could see in the eyes of the men, as he paced before them
with the bleeding wound in his side, how much they pitied and
admired him.[2]
