The sudden shrill note of a bugle rang from
the woods and Jackson's yelling grey lines of death swept down on their
unprotected rear.
The first regiments in sight were blown into atoms and driven as chaff
before a whirlwind. Behind them lay twenty regiments in their trenches
pointed the wrong way. The men leaped to their guns and fought
desperately to stay the rushing torrent. Beyond them was a ragged gap of
a whole mile without a man, left bare by the chase of Sickles' division
now ten miles away. Without support the shattered lines were crushed
and crumpled and rolled back in confusion. Every regiment was cut to
pieces and pushed on top of one another, men, horses, mules, cattle,
guns, in a tangled mass of blood and death.
Ned was sent to bring the supporting column to drive them on and on. He
mounted a horse and dashed back to the reserve line yelling his call:
"Hurry! Hurry up, men!"
"What's the hurry?" growled a grey coat.
"Hurry! Hurry!" Ned shouted. "We've captured fifty pieces of artillery
and ten thousand prisoners!"
"Then what'ell's the use er hurryin' us on er empty stomach--but we're
a-comin', honey--we're a-comin'!"
The colonel of a regiment snatched his hat off and was getting his men
ready for the charge. He waved his hand toward Ned:
"Make that damn-fool get out of the way.
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