l, she was steadily sending canister
against the great Parrott on the opposite hill. The six-pounder beside
her worked as steadily. A surgeon came with his helpers, gathered up the
wounded, and carried them beneath a whistling storm of shot and shell to
a field hospital behind the ridge.

Out of the woods came fresh regiments of the enemy. These bore down upon
the guns and upon the 5th Virginia now forming behind them. Poague's
section opened with canister at one hundred and fifty yards. All the
Valley marksmen of the 5th let fall the lids of their cartridge boxes,
lifted their muskets, and fired. The blue withstood the first volley and
the second, but at the third they went back to the wood. An order
arrived from McLaughlin of the Rockbridge, "Lieutenant Poague back to
the straw stacks!" The battery horses, quiet and steadfast, were brought
from where they had stood and cropped the grass, the guns were limbered
up, Jackson's aide and the men of the 65th fell back, the six-pounder
shared its men with the howitzer, off thundered the guns. There was a
stir in the 65th. "Boys, I heard say that when those fellows show again,
we're going to charge!"

The battle was now general--Fulkerson on the left behind the stone wall,
Garnett in the centre, the artillery and Burk with three battalions on
the right. Against them poured the regiments of Kimball and Tyler, with
Sullivan coming up. The sun, could it have been seen through the rolling
smoke, would have showed low in the heavens. The musketry was
continuous, and the sound of the cannon shook the heart of Winchester
three miles away.

The 65th moved forward. Halfway up the slope, its colonel received an
ugly wound. He staggered and sank. "Go on! go on, men! Fine hunt! Don't
let the stag--" The 65th went on, led by Richard Cleave.

Before it stretched a long bank of springtime turf, a natural breastwork
seized by the blue soldiers as the stone fence on the left had been
taken by Fulkerson. From behind this now came a line of leaping flame.
Several of the grey fell, among them the colour-bearer. The man nearest
snatched the staff. Again the earthwork blazed and rang, and again the
colour-bearer fell, pitching forward, shot through the heart. Billy
Maydew caught the colours. "Thar's a durned sharpshooter a-settin' in
that thar tree! Dave, you pick him off."

Again the bank blazed. A western regiment was behind it, a regiment of
hunters and marksmen. Moreover a fresh body of t