The Sword of Antietam | Page 8

A formidable body of men issuing from the Northern side of the
wood charged with the bayonet, pushing the charge home with a
courage and a recklessness of death that the war had not yet seen
surpassed. The Southern rifles and cannon raked them, but they never
stopped, bursting like a tornado upon their foe.
One of Jackson's Virginia regiments gave way and then another. The
men in blue from the wood and Colonel Winchester's regiment joined,
their shouts rising above the smoke while they steadily pushed the
enemy before them.
Dick as he shouted with the rest felt a wild exultation. They were
showing Jackson what they could do! They were proving to him that he
could not win always. His joy was warranted. No such confusion had
ever before existed in Jackson's army. The Northern charge was driven
like a wedge of steel into its ranks.

Jackson had able generals, valiant lieutenants, with him, Ewell and
Early, and A. P. Hill and Winder, and they strove together to stop the
retreat. The valiant Winder was mortally wounded and died upon the
field, and Jackson, with his wonderful ability to see what was
happening and his equal power of decision, swiftly withdrew that wing
of his army, also carrying with it every gun.
A great shout of triumph rose from the men in blue as they saw the
Southern retreat.
"We win! We win!" cried Pennington again.
"Yes, we win!" shouted Warner, usually so cool.
And it did seem even to older men that the triumph was complete. The
blue and the gray were face to face in the smoke, but the gray were
driven back by the fierce and irresistible charge, and, as their flight
became swifter, the shells and grape from the Northern batteries
plunged and tore through their ranks. Nothing stopped the blue wave. It
rolled on and on, sweeping a mass of fugitives before it, and engulfing
others.
Dick had no ordered knowledge of the charge. He was a part of it, and
he saw only straight in front of him, but he was conscious that all
around him there was a fiery red mist, and a confused and terrible noise
of shouting and firing. But they were winning! They were beating
Stonewall Jackson himself. His pulses throbbed so hard that he thought
his arteries would burst, and his lips were dry and blackened from
smoke, burned gunpowder and his own hot breath issuing like steam
between them.
Then came a halt so sudden and terrible that it shook Dick as if by
physical contact. He looked around in wonder. The charge was spent,
not from its lack of strength but because they had struck an obstacle.
They had reckoned ill, because they had not reckoned upon all the
resources of Stonewall Jackson's mind. He had stemmed the rout in
person and now he was pushing forward the Stonewall Brigade, five
regiments, which always had but two alternatives, to conquer or to die.

Hill and Ewell with fresh troops were coming up also on his flanks, and
now the blue and the gray, face to face again, closed in mortal combat.
"We've stopped! We've stopped! Do you hear it, we've stopped!"
exclaimed Pennington, his face a ghastly reek of dust and perspiration,
his eyes showing amazement and wonder how the halt could have
happened. Dick shared in the terrible surprise. The fire in front of him
deepened suddenly. Men were struck down all about him. Heavy
masses of troops in gray showed through the smoke. The Stonewall
Brigade was charging, and regiments were charging with it on either
side.
The column in blue was struck in front and on either flank. It not only
ceased its victorious advance, but it began to give ground. The men
could not help it, despite their most desperate efforts. It seemed to Dick
that the earth slipped under their feet. A tremendous excitement seized
him at the thought of victory lost just when it seemed won. He ran up
and down the lines, shouting to the men to stand firm. He saw that the
senior officers were doing the same, but there was little order or
method in his own movements. It was the excitement and bitter
humiliation that drove him on.
He stumbled in the smoke against Sergeant Whitley. The sergeant's
forehead had been creased by a bullet, but so much dust and burned
gunpowder had gathered upon it that it was as black as the face of a
black man.
"Are we to lose after all?" exclaimed Dick.
It seemed strange to him, even at that moment, that he should hear his
own voice amid such a roar of cannon and rifles. But it was an
undernote, and he heard with equal ease the sergeant's reply:
"It ain't decided