Every horse was down dead or wounded. The pitiful cries of the stricken
horses rang over the field above the roar of the battle, pathetic,
heartrending, sickening.
The two armies had clinched now in the grim struggle which meant defeat
or victory. It was incredible that the army which swept the field for
four terrible hours should fail. The new regiments formed in line and
with a shout of desperation charged Jackson's men and retook the
captured battery.
Again the men in grey rallied and tore the guns a second time from the
hands of their owners.
John saw a shell explode directly beneath a magnificent horse on which
a general sat directing his men. The horse was blown to atoms, the
general was hurled twenty feet into the air and struck the ground on his
feet. He was unhurt, called for another horse, mounted and led the third
charge to recover the guns. For a moment the two battle lines mingled in
deadly hand to hand combat and once more the guns were retaken.
It had scarcely been done before Jackson's men rallied, turned and swift
as a bolt of lightning from the smoke-covered hill captured the guns the
third time and held them.
And then the unexpected, unimaginable thing happened. A new dust cloud
rose over the hill toward Manassas Junction. The Southerners were hoping
against hope that it might be Kirby Smith with his lost regiment from
the Shenandoah Valley.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188