It was a tough and heavy fight.
"Old Jeb cut off more than he could _chaw_, that time!" said a veteran
afterward, in describing the fight. And at one time it seemed that the
enemy were going to hold their ground.
Fleetwood, beyond, was lined with bayonets, and every knoll was crowned
with cannon: when night fell, however, the whole force had retreated
and crossed the Rappahannock, leaving the ground strewed with their
dead and wounded.
In the dusky woods near Brandy, Stuart sat his horse, looking toward
the Rappahannock, and laughing still. He was talking with brave Fitz
Lee, whose stout figure, flowing beard, and eyes twinkling with humor,
were plain in the starlight. I shall show you that gallant figure more
than once in this volume, reader. You had but to look at him to see
that he was the bravest of soldiers, and the best of comrades.
So night fell on a victory. Stuart had driven the enemy at every step.
He had charged their infantry, cavalry, and artillery, routing
all,--and he was once more in sight of Fleetwood Hill, where he had
defeated them in the preceding June.
Singular current of war! It used to bear us onward; but be taken with a
sudden fancy to flow back to the old spots! See Manassas,
Fredericksburg, Cold Harbor, Chancellorsville!
Fleetwood takes its place with them--twice bloody and memorable.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151