60. LX.
HOW ASHBY WAS NOT “BAGGED” BY SIR PERCY.
The column had not advanced half a mile when Ashby's
cavalry pickets appeared in front, reconnoitring from a hill.
The vedettes held their ground until the column was nearly
upon them—when they galloped off.
The same ceremony was repeated at the next hill, and as
Colonel Wyndham continued to advance without flankers, my
heart began to beat and my hopes to rise high.
I knew how dangerous it was to trifle with an adversary like
Ashby, and the incautious method of advancing adopted by the
Federal Colonel subjected him, I knew, to imminent peril of
capture.
In thirty minutes, events took place which fully supported my
view of the subject.
Reaching a point where the road traversed some low grounds,
between two low ranges of hills on either side, Colonel Wyndham
saw in front of him, at the distance of about four hundred
yards, a small body of cavalry, which slowly retired as he appeared.
The Colonel greeted the spectacle with unmistakable pleasure.
“Now for it!” I heard him call out to his friend, the correspondent,
who had prudently withdrawn to the side of the
road. “Look out for some fun!”
And, placing himself in front of his column, the Colonel drew
his sabre, and gave the order to “charge!”
The column rushed forward at the word—but oh! disastrous
event!—occurrence ever to be deplored!—no sooner had the
horses of the Federal cavalry-men run thrice their length, than
the crest on the right of the road, in their rear, suddenly bristled
with sabres—and a squadron, led by Ashby in person, thundered
down, and fell, with shouts, upon the Federal rear. At the
same instant, the detachment in front, which had served as a
decoy, charged the enemy full tilt—and, caught between this
double fire, cut off, surrounded, dumb-foundered, the Federal
cavalry-men threw down their arms and surrendered.[1]
I was recaptured, and now found myself by Ashby's side, face
to face with Colonel Wyndham. The newspaper correspondent
had glided into the woods and escaped.
I shall never forget the expression of the Federal Colonel's
countenance at that moment. If ever rage, mortification, and
astonishment were depicted on the human face, his displayed them.
When he caught my eye, he glanced at me like a tiger, and
turned abruptly away.
Ashby treated his prisoner with that calm courtesy which
characterized him, but the Colonel would not be mollified. His
face was flushed, his eyes full of lurid light—wrath had mastered
him. The few words he blurted out had something savage in
them; and when he was conducted to the rear, through the
lines of infantry, I heard that his wrath exploded.
Some one among the men greeted him, I heard, with the
words: “Just look at the Yankee Colonel!” when his long
pent-up anger burst forth like a torrent. His peculiar abhorrence,
it is said, was to be considered a “Yankee”—and this
was the straw that broke the camel's back.
Ashby captured sixty-four men, if my memory serves me, by
this ambush; and these were now sent to the rear.
“Your luck is extraordinary, my dear Surry,” he said, “to be
captured and recaptured both in one day. I am truly glad to see
you again. Come, tell me about it.”
I narrated all that occurred, and my companion said, with a
smile:
“The worst of all possible habits in a commander is to boast
of what he is going to do.”
“Especially when he doesn't do it.”
And we rode on.
