65. LXV.
EXEUNT OMNES.
Jackson had returned to his head-quarters in Port Republic,
and was up receiving reports and attending to business all night.
I never saw him cooler or more collected. Events were rushing
on, and the decisive moment had at last arrived; but, instead
of becoming flurried and excited, he grew more calm.
His designs now became clearly developed. Orders were dispatched
to General Ewell to move his main force, during the
night, into Port Republic; leaving a small body of troops only
in General Fremont's front: and, an hour or two afterward,
Colonel Patton, left in command of this force, came to General
Jackson's head-quarters to obtain specific instructions. The
ground he was to fall back over, if hard pressed, the Colonel
declared, to be exceedingly unfavorable for such a movement;
and he desired to ascertain exactly the General's wishes.
“Hold your position as long as possible,” was Jackson's reply,
“only retiring when you cannot maintain your ground. Then
fall back slowly, fighting at every step, and, by the blessing of
Providence, I hope to be with you before ten o'clock to-morrow.”
[1]
The General's design was thus obvious, and I laid down to
snatch an hour's sleep, before the attack on General Shields.
I was aroused at daylight. Jackson had already put his forces
in motion. The long column defiled through the town of Port
Republic, crossed the South River Fork of the Shenandoah on
some wagon-bodies sunk in the stream, and soon the firing in
front began.
“Come, Major!”
And Jackson rapidly got into the saddle.
“Winder is engaged,” he said, as we rode along, “but I am
afraid the enemy's force is too great for him.”
We reached the field, about three miles from the town, just
before sunrise, and events soon occurred which fully justified the
General's fears.
The river here makes a bend in the shape of a crescent; and
the ground thus enclosed was waving with a magnificent wheat
crop, glowing in the fair June morning. On the right was an
elevated piece of ground—and here the enemy were posted in
heavy force.
Their long lines stretched, dark and menacing, across the
wheat field; the high ground on their left was crowned with
artillery; and the United States flag rippled proudly in the breeze.
The banner of the Stonewall Brigade—the Virgin of Virginia—
advanced defiantly to meet it, and, with a roar like thunder from
the opposing batteries, the battle began.
The advantage derived by the enemy from the commanding
position on their left now became fatally obvious. The ranks
of the Stonewall Brigade were torn by a deadly fire of shell and
canister; and, taking advantage of this circumstance, the Federal
right and centre rushed forward, charged the Southern
artillery, and, pouring a destructive fire into the infantry, forced
both to fall back in disorder.
The action seemed about to be decided at a blow. The Federal
infantry, dark against the golden wheat, was pouring on in one
continuous stream, firing as it came; and our artillery went off
at a gallop to escape caputre.
“Bad, very bad!” came curtly from Jackson, as he hurried to
the spot. “Major, tell General Ewell to hurry up; no time is
to be lost.”
I found General Ewell approaching with his column, and delivered
the message. Jackson's order was promptly responded
to. Two Virginia regiments were advanced at a double-quick:
Jackson placed himself at their head and galloped forward: then
came the long roar of musketry, as they suddenly fell with fury
on the flank of the triumphant enemy.
Their advance was instantly checked, but the heavy batteries
upon the right still raked the field with a fire so destructive that
no troops could sustain it. The shell, round shot, canister, and
grape tore the ranks to pieces, and it was obvious that, as long
as those guns held their position, nothing could be effected.
The Federal infantry, for a moment checked, now re-formed
their line, and were evidently preparing for a more determined
charge. Soon it came.
The batteries on the high ground redoubled their thunders;
the plain was swept as by a hurricane—and then the Federal
flag was seen pointing forward, its folds rippling as it came,
and beneath it the long line rushed on, with shouts and volleys
which seemed to shake the ground.
So determined was this charge that the Southern lines gave
back before it—the enemy rushed on—the battle seemed lost.
I was by General Jackson's side at this moment, and never
shall forget the stern, immovable resolution of his iron face.
The heavy jaws were locked together; the cheeks flushed; from
the keen eyes lightning seemed to dart.
“Those batteries must be silenced,” he said, briefly, to Ewell,
who was by his side.
At that moment General Taylor rode hastily up.
“General,” said Jackson, in the briefest of tones, “can you
take that battery?”
“I think I can, sir,” was Taylor's cheerful response.
“It must be taken, or the day is lost.”[2]
A chivalric flash darted from Taylor's eyes, and, wheeling his
horse, he galloped to his command, which had just formed line
of battle on the right, near the ground where Jackson stood.
Taylor's sword flashed out, he rose in his stirrups, and, pointing
with the weapon toward the Federal artillery, he called out, in
his ringing voice:
“Louisianians! can you take those guns?”*
A wild cheer rose from the brigade for sole reply.
“Forward, then!” was Taylor's sonorous order. “Charge
the battery, and take it!”*
His line swept forward at the word, on fire with enthusiasm,
and, rushing through the tangled undergrowth, was seen the
next moment rapidly mounting a slope beyond. The ranks had
been broken by the rough ground over which they had advanced,
but Taylor was now seen, with drawn sword, in front of them—
the straggling lines re-formed, in close order, for the charge—and,
steadily, unmoved by the heavy fire poured upon them from the
Federal batteries, they continued to advance.
What followed could be plainly seen from the position which
we occupied.
Between Taylor and the Federal guns now intervened only a
skirt of woods and a little valley. Beyond this valley was the
crest, flaming like a crater.
For a moment the gray line did not reappear beyond the
skirt of woods. Jackson's face filled with blood. He evidently
feared that the men had recoiled in face of the certain death
which awaited a charge upon this volcano.
All at once, a ringing shout was heard from the woods; the
Federal artillery directed upon the point a rapid and deadly fire
—then Taylor's line was seen to emerge from cover and rush
down the hill.
The next moment it began to ascend the opposite slope,
straight upon the muzzles of the Federal guns. The fire which
greeted the charge was frightful. The guns were discharged
so rapidly that the sound resembled volleys of artillery; and
directly in the faces of the men was launched a tempest of
grape, canister, and shell.
The spectacle was sublime; not for an instant did they recoil.
The lines were literally hurled back as the iron storm swept
through them, mangling and tearing men to pieces—but the
ranks closed up again; the shouts of the Louisianians rang,
clear and defiant, above the roar; and then they were seen to
dash upon the guns, and strike their bayonets into the flying
cannoneers.
Taylor had taken the Federal guns whose fire was so destructive,
but he was not to hold them without a terrible struggle.
The enemy immediately concentrated a heavy infantry force
in his front—charged him with desperation—and retook the
pieces at the point of the bayonet.
Taylor fell back—his men fighting desperately; but suddenly
the retrograde ceased, the opposing lines grappled almost in a
breast-to-breast struggle; then, with echoing cheers, the Louisianians
again rushed forward, and recaptured the pieces.
Three times they were lost and won, in this desperate struggle;
but, at last, Taylor drove back the line in his front sufficiently
far to bring off the pieces. Then he drew up his shattered command
to sustain the final assault upon it.
But his determined attack had changed the whole face of
affairs. The enemy had been compelled to re-enforce their left
by withdrawing troops from their centre and right, which had
pressed so hard on Jackson; and this, in turn, enabled Jackson
to move his forces from the left to the right.
Taylor thus found himself fully re-enforced; his men held
their ground with new resolution; and the opposing lines rushed
together in a mortal struggle.
It was soon decided. Attacked in front by Jackson's infantry,
and subjected to a heavy fire from his batteries on the left, the
Federal lines began obviously to waver. The musketry fire redoubled;
the Southern lines rushed forward with cheers; and,
giving way in disorder, the enemy retired in confusion from the
field.
They were followed with a heavy fire—pursued for miles—
and, when the infantry were too weary to go further, the cavalry
took up the pursuit.
At this moment a new actor appeared upon the scene.
Suddenly, a furious roar came from the western bank of the
Shenandoah, opposite Port Republic—and General Fremont's
forces appeared upon the elevated ground, and his artillery
opened fire upon the parties engaged in burying the Federal and
the Confederate dead.
It was too late—Shields was defeated, and Fremont could not
cross. Jackson had ordered the force in his front near Cross
Keys to fall back and burn the bridge—this had been done—and
now General Fremont was subjected to the mortification of seeing
his brother general crushed before his eyes, without the
power of coming to his assistance.
I have always considered this the most “dramatic” scene, as
the French say, of the war:
General Shields flying in disorder, hotly pursued; General
Fremont gnashing his teeth upon the opposite bank of the river;
and Jackson looking calmly on, with the grim smile of the
victor.
On the next day, General Fremont retreated down the Valley,
and Jackson remained undisputed master of the country.
