Stuart rushed toward the guns. As he reached them a cannon ball carried
off the head of a cannoneer, and his horse reared with fright, nearly
trampling on the headless trunk which spouted blood. Davenant had
coolly drawn his sabre, but had given no order to retire.
"Move back the guns!" exclaimed Stuart.
"Is it necessary, general?" asked Davenant.
"Yes, they will be captured in five minutes!"
"It is a pity we can not remain, general. This is an excellent
position."
And he gave the order to limber up. The operation was performed amid a
hurricane of bullets, striking down the cannoneers.
Suddenly a column of Federal cavalry charged straight at the guns.
Davenant met them with his mounted men, armed with sabres, and a
stubborn combat followed. It was a hilt to hilt affair, and Davenant
was in the midst of it shouting:--
"You are fighting for your guns, boys! You promised to die by your
guns!"
The men answered with fierce shouts, and met the enemy with savage
resolution. Meanwhile, the guns had rushed at a gallop down the western
slope; a regiment came to Davenant's assistance; the fight grew
desperate, but was of no avail.
In fifteen minutes we were driven.
Driven! Do you know what that means, reader? Ask old soldiers if it is
pleasant. They will growl in reply!
We were forced back, step by step, with the enemy at our very heels.
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