62. LXII.
“VIRGINIANS, CHARGE!”
General Fremont continued to press forward from Harrisonburg
upon Jackson's rear, while General Shields hastened up to
intercept him between Port Republic and the Blue Ridge.
The rear of the army was near Cross Keys, when, as I was
riding along with General Jackson, a courier came from Ashby
with a dispatch.
Jackson read it, and then, handing it to me, said:
“Major, ascertain what force of infantry General Ashby requires,
and see that he gets it.”
As I went to execute this order, I read the note. Ashby
stated that one or two regiments of Federal infantry were pressing
forward incautiously ahead of their column, and that with a
small force he felt convinced he could flank and capture them.
To obtain General Jackson's sanction of this movement was the
object of his note.
I found Ashby on the summit of a hill, pointing out, with
animated gestures, to General Ewell, the peculiarities of the
ground, and its adaptation to a battle. He had completely lost
all his sadness of the preceding night; his swarthy face was full
of ardor; his eyes brilliant with the thought of the approaching
contest.
So striking was this animation in every gesture and movement,
that, as I passed the First Maryland Regiment, drawn up on the
side of the road near at hand, I saw its commanding officer,
Colonel Bradley Johnson, point to the two Generals, and heard
him say:
“Look at Ashby enjoying himself.”[1]
I saluted and informed General Ashby of Jackson's response
to his note. He could have any force he desired.
“Two regiments will do,” was his quick reply. “I will take
the First Maryland and the Fifty-eighth Virginia yonder—though
it is a mere handful. Look at them!” he exclaimed, with his
arm extended at full length, “look! they are coming on as if we
were chaff to be scattered to the winds!”
And he pointed out a dark column on the road ahead, tipped
with burnished bayonets.
Preparations were rapidly made for the projected attack.
Ashby's design was to make a circuit to the right with his infantry,
while his cavalry remained in the road before the advancing
column, as a decoy; and at the moment when the Federal
infantry came opposite to him, exposing its flank, to make a
sudden and determined attack upon it.
But for one of those unforeseen incidents which interpose in
all human affairs, this skilful conception would have been crowned
with complete success. What defeated it will now be related.
Ashby hastened to the spot where the two regiments were
drawn up under arms, and rapidly issued his orders. The troops
were concealed from the enemy by the hill, on which the cavalry
were drawn up, and there was no difficulty in moving them,
without discovery, in the direction proposed.
They were promptly in motion, and, exclaiming, “Come, Surry,
and see me attack them!” Ashby galloped ahead, followed at a
rapid pace by the infantry.
We had ridden about half a mile, when suddenly the report
of a gun came from a body of woods in front of us, and a bullet
whistled by our heads.
“What can that be?” exclaimed Ashby, riding coolly ahead;
“there can be nothing here.”
“Can the enemy have conceived the same plan as yours—and
got thus far?”
“It is hardly possible.”
Suddenly, in a dense skirting of undergrowth which ran along
a fence on the edge of the woods, I saw the glitter of bayonets.
“Take care! There is their line!” I exclaimed.
As I spoke, a blaze ran along the fence, and a storm of bullets
whistled around us.
Ashby turned and galloped back to his infantry.
“Forward! double-quick!” was his ringing order, and, rapidly
communicating with the Colonels, he gave his directions.
The Fifty-eighth Virginia was to charge the enemy in front,
while the First Maryland, formed upon its left, was to turn the
Federal right, pour a cross-fire upon them, and then charge with
the bayonet.
In three minutes line of battle was formed, and every thing
ready for the attack.
Ashby placed himself, still on horseback, at the head of the
Fifty-eighth Virginia, which resembled a small battalion rather
than a regiment, and Colonel Johnson gallantly advanced at the
head of the Marylanders on the left.
I shall never forget the appearance of the landscape at this
moment. In front was a wheat field waving with ripe grain,
over which rippled long shadows as the wind swept it; and
beyond extended the heavy foliage of the woodland, mellowed
by the golden light of the calm June evening. The sun was
slowly sinking behind a bank of orange clouds: the serene canopy
of soft azure, touched with gold, stretched overhead. It was
hard to believe that this beautiful landscape, where seemed to
reign the very genius of repose, was about to become the theatre
of a fierce and sanguinary conflict.
That conflict was not delayed. Ashby found his plan of flanking
and surprising the enemy completely thwarted; but there
they were before him—they had thrown down the challenge—
and he was not the man to refuse it.
Stern, obstinate “fight” was in his bronze face and sparkling
eyes, as he rapidly threw forward his line toward the fringe of
bushes on the edge of the woods, where the enemy were concealed;
and, in an instant, the action commenced.
It speedily began to rage with extraordinary fury. The Fifty-eighth
Virginia poured volley after volley into the undergrowth,
where, lying behind a fence, the Federal line awaited their attack;
and from the left was heard the hot fire of the Marylanders,
rapidly advancing to turn the Federal flank.
They now saw their danger, and opened a rapid and destructive
fire both upon the Virginians and Marylanders, in front and
flank. The undergrowth blazed with musketry; a continuous
roar reverberated through the woods; and the enemy—the
Pennsylvania “Bucktails,” Colonel Kane—met the attack upon
them with a gallantry which proved that they were picked
troops.
Ashby continued to advance on horseback at the head of the
Virginians, waving his sword and cheering them on; and Colonel
Johnson pressed forward, pouring a hot fire into the enemy's
flank. The latter had now gotten so close, and was in so favorable
a position for a final charge, that Ashby saw the moment
had come for the bayonet.
At that instant his appearance was superb. He was riding a
bay horse—the same ridden by Jackson at the first battle of
Manassas[2]
—and as he reined in the excited animal with one
hand, and pointed with the sword in his other to the enemy, his
dark face was full of the fire of battle, his eyes blazed, and in his
voice, as clear and sonorous as the ring of a clarion, spoke, as it
were, the very genius of battle.
I think of him often as I saw him at that moment, charging,
with unconquerable spirit, at the head of his men.
The Marylanders were almost in contact with the enemy when
Ashby ordered the men of the Fifty-eight to cease their fire,
and close upon the enemy with the bayonet.
“Virginians, charge!”[3]
came ringing from his lips, when a
bullet suddenly pierced his horse's chest, and, advancing a few
yards, the animal reeled and fell.
Ashby was upon his feet in a moment, and, pointing with his
sword to the Federal line, now not more than fifty yards distant,
continued to cheer on the men—when all at once I saw him
stagger. A bullet had penetrated his breast, and I caught him
in my arms, just as he was falling.
“You are wounded!” I exclaimed.
“I am done for, Surry,” he replied, faintly; then extending
his arm, while I saw the pallor of death overspread his features,
he murmured:
“Tell my Virginians to press them with the bayonet!”
His head fell back as he spoke, and I laid him on the ground,
supporting his shoulders upon my breast.
“I told you—last night—but it is a good death!” he murmured.
At that instant the shouts of the Southerners told that they
had driven the enemy before them, and were hotly pursuing them
through the woods.
“What is that?” exclaimed Ashby, half rising, with a flush
upon his face.
“The enemy are flying.”
A sudden light flashed from his eyes, he tried to rise, but fell
back in my arms.
“Tell them I died in harness, fighting to the last!” he exclaimed—and,
as the words left his lips, he expired.
Such was the death of Ashby, “the Knight of the Valley.”
