In vain
the regular army, with splendid discipline, formed a rear guard to
effect an orderly retreat. The crack of their guns only made the men run
faster.
The wildest rumors flew from parched tongue to throbbing ear.
An army of a hundred thousand fresh troops had fallen on their tired,
bloody ranks. They were led by Jeb Stuart at the head of four thousand
Black Horse Cavalry. If a single man escaped alive it would be for one
reason, only they could outrun them. It was a crime for officers to try
to round them up for a massacre. That's all it was--a massacre! With
each mad thought of the rushing mob the panic grew. They cut the traces
of horses from guns and left them on the field. The frantic mob engulfed
the buggies and carriages of the Congressmen and picnickers from
Washington who had come out to see the Rebellion put down at a single
blow. The road became a mass of neighing, plunging horses, broken and
tangled wagons, ambulances and riderless artillery teams. Horses neighed
in terror more abject than that which filled the hearts of men. Men
once had reason--the poor horse had never claimed it. The blockades on
the road formed no barrier to the flying men on foot. They streamed
around and overflowed into the woods and fields and pressed on with new
terror. God in Heaven! They pitied the poor fools engulfed in those
masses of maddened plunging brutes and smashing wagons.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190