University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Keeping carefully concealed among the trees and
brush covering the irregular surface of the country, Picter
pushed rapidly forward in the direction taken by the
rebels in their flight from the bridge. A few scattering
shots occasionally broke the calm of the morning; but
nothing as yet indicated a general engagement, and Pic
began to have misgivings that the event was to prove
him but a false prophet, and that the battle he had so
pompously announced would, after all, turn out only a
skirmish.

He accordingly attempted to save himself from the
ignominy of confessing a mistake, by an operation known
in naval language as “laying an anchor to the windward,”
and upon the turf as “hedging.”

“De gen'ral wasn' gwine ter make much ob a fight
jes' now,” said he, carelessly. “All we wants is ter
look roun' a leetly mite, an' see how de rebs is fixed.
Fac', I don' know as dere'll be much fightin' 'bout it any
way. Shouldn' wonder if we drawed off, now we'm
made um run, an' come back 'noder day to finish wid
um.”

“That's too bad,” said Dora, quite disappointed. “I
thought you said they were going to clear out Camp
Bartow, Picter. That would be a fight.”

“An' so we am, chile; we'm gwine ter cl'ar it out as
clean as yore lilly han', bud wedder we do it to-day or
to-morrer I couldn' say. It wasn' quite decided w'en I
comed away. Dis yer is w'at we calls a armed reconnoissance,
dis is,” replied Pic, his complacency fully
restored by the sonorous military phrase he had so fortunately
recollected.

“O,” said Dora, a little dubiously, “is it?”

“Yes, chile. You'll know all 'bout dese yer 'fairs one
dese days, ef we stops in camp. You can't 'xpect ter all
ter once, dough. It took me some time myse'f fore I
made it all out.”

“There! Here we are at the top of the hill,” cried
Dora, joyfully. “But we can't see anything for the
trees. You must lead the horse down to the edge of the
wood, Picter. The hill will be cleared part way up.”

“I reckon so, missy; dey mos'ly is. Golly! if dis
chile had got a farm roun' here, de fus' ting he'd do 'ould
be ter git a big rollin' pin an' roll it out flat. It's all ups
an' downs now, like de top ob a huckleberry pie. Specs,
dough I's made ter walk roun' dese oneven places, same
as de kangaroos mist's tole 'bout one day. Dey's got
two short leg an' two long leg, an' so's I.”

“You haven't four legs, Pic,” laughed Dora.

“Well, missy, two on 'em's arms, to be sure; but den
it's pooty much'e same ting. Now, den, de trees am
gittin' thin. Don' yer see de cl'arin' down b'low? We'm
can't go much furder. It's a massy dat Jump an' I is
brack, an' you face, honey, dough it's w'ite 'nough, is so
leetly, dat ef dey sees us dey'll tink it's on'y a white posy
growin' up here.”

“But this white blanket, Picter, I'll take it off and
roll it up.”

“Will you be warm 'nough, missy, widout it?”

“O, yes. I am too warm now. Then, my gray dress
won't show at all, and you can strap the blanket behind
the saddle here for me to sit on.”

“Golly! What a han' you is fer plannin', missy!
Jes' as smart an' quick's a steel trap. Specs de gen'ral 'll
hab you up to help 'em in de council. Take keer you
don' git sunburned, dough, else all yore smartness won't
be no 'count.”

They had by this time reached the limit of the forest
covering the crest of the high hill they had just crossed.
The land, for about half the height on the side they
had now gained, was cleared for cultivation, and Picter
carefully concealed the horse, with Dora still upon his
back, in a dense clump of young oaks and chestnuts that
encroached a little upon the field below. Through their
foliage, thinned by early frosts, she could obtain an unobstructed
view of the scene in the valley.

For his own part, Picter, after tying the horse securely,
climbed into the top of an enormous white pine, just
upon the edge of the forest, and crouched there like a
remarkably large specimen of the ravens, that are poetically
alleged to attend battle-fields.

“There, missy,” said he, cautiously, when finally settled
to his mind, “now we'm as comf'able as de big
bugs in de show boxes at de Richmon' play-house, an'
all de fun dere is to be seed we'll see, widout eber
stirrin' a foot; fer dat's Buffler Hill right acrost de valley,
an' all dem shiny w'ite spots is tents, an' dem lines
ob light-colored dirt is umbankments, wid cannon atop
ob 'em, an' dem critters dat's swarmin' in an' out an' all
roun', same as de black ants does w'en a boy sticks a
'ole in de hill, is rebels. Hullo! see dem fellers trottin'
up de hill an' goin' in? Dey's de ones we jes' druv
away from de bridge, I reckon. Wonder if de leetly
feller dat was so perlite to us is dere.”

“O, Picter! Isn't it a splendid sight!” exclaimed
Dora, clasping her little hands, while her face turned
pale, and her luminous eyes flashed with excitement.

It was indeed a glorious picture. At their feet lay a
broad valley, its surface broken with hillocks and wooded
knolls, with patches of cultivated land at intervals, relieved
by broad tracts of forest.

Curving in and out, among these woods and hills, the
clear waters of the Green Brier sparkled and glittered in

the morning sunshine, like the blade of King Arthur's
sword Excalibur, when it flashed from the hand of the
good knight Bedivere, to sink forever in the lake.

Beyond the valley rose abruptly high hills, steep acclivities,
that should have been mountains, had not the
gray peaks of the Alleghanies risen grandly above and
beyond them, frowning down in stern sterility upon their
softly-rounded summits. Far away, where a cone-like
crest cut sharply upon the clear blue of heaven, a shining
thread of light wound down the mountain side, as if the
parched granite had cracked in a long, zigzag seam,
and the eternal fires within gleamed through. It was
the stream of the waterfall and the cave, transformed by
the sunshine to a stream of glancing light.

Near at hand, in fact little more than half a mile distant,
as the crow flies, rose the steep eminence known as
Buffalo Hill. As Picter had faithfully repeated from the
narration of his friend, the scout, this hill-side camp had
been carefully fortified by the rebels with terraced batteries,
rifle-pits, and embankments.

The defences, beginning near the foot of the hill, extended
quite up to the summit, which was crowned with
heavy woodland.

Through the valley, close by the base of Buffalo Hill,
and up into the mountains beyond, ran a road known as
the Staunton turnpike.

Following this line of road, some half mile to the

right of the position chosen by Picter, Dora's eyes fell
upon a dark, motionless mass lying near the highway,
and surmounted by innumerable little glancing points.
A close inspection satisfied her that this was a body of
soldiers, with the sunshine flashing from their bayonets.

She pointed them out to Picter.

“Yes, chile, I sees 'em; dere'll be a fight, a'rter all.
But, Lord sabe us, what's dat?”

“Where, Picter?”

“Down here, jes' a leetle dis side ob dem fellers.
Don' you see, all dese figgers squattin' down 'hind de
fence and de brush, and den ober dis side de road,
'mongst de trees on dat leetly hill? Dey's hidin', dat's
cl'ar, an' dey' waitin' fer dem oder fellers.”

“And they must be rebels, because they're between
the rebel camp and those other soldiers.”

“Yes, yes, so dey is, chile. Well, I reckon you's got
de right pig by de ear now. Dey's rebels, an' dey's
ambushed dere, to wait for our sojers dat's stan'in' still
up dere. W'y don't dey come 'long, I wonder.”

“See! There's some more.”

As Dora spoke, a small body of horsemen appeared at
the head of the valley, riding rapidly towards the stationary
troops, their plumes waving and accoutrements
flashing in the sun.

“Dat's de gen'l wid his staff an' escort ob cabalry,”
cried Picter, eagerly. “Golly! if dem rebels makes out

to cotch him, de fat's all in de fire, an' de skillet cracked.
Wow! He'll ride right in amongst 'em.”

“No; he's turning off. He's going over to the troops
that have been waiting there. I guess they were waiting
for him.”

“Waitin' fer orders. Yis, ob course dey was. I
could ha' tole you dat, chile,” said Picter, jealously.

“Yes, see,” continued Dora, breathlessly. “He points
forward with his sword; I can see the sun glance along
the blade; he means that they are to go. There, see,
they are starting! Not all, though; it's only a small
part, and they are spreading all out.”

“Dey calls dat deployin',” interposed Pic.

“They move very carefully, and carry their bayonets
out in front, as if — There, see, see, Picter! they have
come right upon that clump of trees, where the rebels
are hiding thickest. O, see the guns flash! Hear the
shots! They are running back a little! Now, see,
they stop behind that wall! The rebels don't follow.”

“Reckon dey don't. 'Ould you follow a hornet inter
his nes'? Now den, look a' dah. De gen'l an' de oder
ossifers runnin' roun' like mad, an' de sojers steppin' out
— dey's all gwine now — de hull bilin' on 'em. Guess
um rebs 'll hab to cl'ar out o' dat, 'bout de quickest.
High O, Jack! Dat's de way! Hooray for de Union
an' de Hoosier boys!”

The cause of this last exclamation was a grand rush

of the whole regiment, so intently watched by Picter and
Dora, in the direction of the ambushed enemy. The
company deployed as skirmishers had, on discovering the
enemy, — nearly a thousand strong, — given him a volley,
and then, falling back, had waited for the support of their
comrades. This had been given upon the instant, and
the whole regiment, dashing forward with loud cheers
and flaunting colors, charged so impetuously upon their
opponents, that the rebels, hardly pausing to return the
first volley, broke and fled, hotly pursued by the excited
victors.

One large body rushed across the valley in the direction
of their camp, followed by a part of the federals,
from whose waving lines flashed continually the blaze
of the muskets, loaded as they ran; and at every flash
fell a dead or wounded foeman.

The remainder of the rebels, consisting principally of
those who had been concealed among the timber to the
left of the road, fled precipitately up the mountains,
stanchly followed by the Union men, firing incessantly
in spite of the difficulties of the ground, or, when so fortunate
as to overtake the fugitives, engaging in breathless
hand-to-hand conflicts, as terrible as they were brief.

In the valley calmly sat the general and his staff,
pennon and plumes softly waving in the golden autumn
air, their horses prancing and pawing with excitement,
trappings and accoutrements flashing again to the dancing

sunbeams. It was the fair outside of the battle picture,
whose grim reverse was to be found among those bloody
thickets on the mountain side, and in the laurel swamp
across the valley, where the right wing of the rebels was
overtaken, and received a withering volley from their
pursuers, who then slowly retired to their post.

The other companies were also recalled from the hills,
which they had entirely cleared of the rebels, who were
by this time safely sheltered in their intrenchments, except
the prisoners, some few wounded, who were presently
to be cared for by the victors, and the many who
lay stiffening in their blood, with wide, ghastly eyes
frozen in their last look of pain and horror.

A battery of flying artillery now dashed down the
road, past the hill where Picter and Dora had taken post,
and, pausing directly in the enemy's front, unlimbered
its guns and opened fire. At the same time the regiment
which had cleared the road for it, and which was now
recognized by Picter as the Indiana Fourteenth, moved
rapidly forward and took post upon the hill-side in its
rear. Another battery occupied a point near the ambush
whence the rebels had been driven, and a single gun,
commanded by the gallant Daum in person, rattled defiantly
up to a position on the left of the Indiana men, and
boldly opened fire.

The rebels, although they had retreated so nimbly in
the field, were brave within their intrenchments, and

vigorously returned the fire of the federal artillery from
their lower line of batteries, where were mounted seven
guns. These, however, were badly served, and wildly
aimed. Most of the first shot fell short of the mark,
and many others were fired above it.

The roar of artillery now became continuous, as the
batteries of the Union force loaded and fired without
pause, and often six or eight of the reports were simultaneous.
The rebels, on their side, kept up nearly an equal
fire, and, in noise at least, their execution was equal to
that of their opponents.

Across the valley rolled the heavy volumes of smoke,
swept before a light breeze, and from the mountain sides
echoed and reëchoed, in grand reiteration, the thunder of
the cannon, while the earth trembled beneath the heavy
reverberation.

Suddenly from the mountain camp rose one, two, three
rockets, in quick succession, sweeping up into the clear
sky, exploding, and fading away, unheard and almost
unnoticed in the wild tumult of the battle.

“Now, now, gen'l, do you see dat ar'?” muttered
Picter, uneasily. “Dat means somefin', shore. Dey
doesn't feel like lettin' off fire-crackers fer fun, up dah,
I'll bet a cent. Like as not dere's more on 'em comin',
an' dem rockets means, `Hurry up you cakes!' Gosh!
Reckon de ole man didn' see it, or he wouldn' set so easy
in him saddle.”

But the general did see and understand the signal,
almost as clearly as Picter himself, and in a few moments
long lines of infantry were to be seen glancing in and out
among the hill-side trees, as they deployed left and right,
far upon either wing, to guard the Union batteries from
a flank movement of the enemy, or his expected reenforcements.