assas Gap, closing the steel trap on that quarter. The
6th with Jackson remained sunken.

In the hot sunshine blared the Louisianian trumpets. An aide, stretched
like an Indian along the neck of his galloping horse, came to the
skirmishers. "All right, Cleave! Go ahead! The Louisianians are pawing
the ground!--Shade of Alexander Hamilton, listen to that!"

"That" was the "Marseillaise," grandly played. _Tramp, tramp!_ the
Louisianians came on to its strains. The skirmish line left the sunny
stone fence where slender ferns filled the chinks, and lizards ran like
frightened flames, and brown ants, anxious travellers, sought a way
home. Cleave, quitting the shadow of a young locust tree, touched with
his foot a wren's nest, shaken from the bough above. The eggs lay in it,
unbroken. He stooped swiftly, caught it up and set it on the bough
again, then ran on, he and all his men, under a storm of shot and shell.

Kenly, a gallant soldier, caught, through no fault of his, in a powerful
trap, manoeuvred ably. His guns were well served, and while they
stayed for a moment the Confederate advance, he made dispositions for a
determined stand. The longer delay here, the greater chance at
Strasburg! A courier dispatched in hot haste to warn the general there
encountered and hurried forward a detachment of the 7th New York Cavalry
as well as a small troop of picked men, led by a sometime aide of
General Banks. These, crossing the wagon bridge over the Shenandoah and
coming down the road at a double, reported to Kenly and were received by
the anxious troops with cheering. The ground hereabouts was rolling,
green eminences at all points breaking the view. Kenly used the cavalry
skilfully, making them appear now here, now there between the hills, to
the end that to the attackers they might appear a regiment. His guns
thundered, and his few companies of infantry fired with steadiness,
greeting with hurrahs every fall of a grey skirmisher.

But the skirmishers pressed on, and behind them came the chanters of the
"Marseillaise." Moreover a gasping courier brought news to Kenly. "A
great force of cavalry, sir--Ashby, I reckon, or the devil himself--on
the right! If they get to the river first--" There was small need of
further saying. If Ashby or the devil got to the river first, then
indeed was the trap closed on the thousand men!

_Face to the Rear! March!_ ordered Kenly. Atwell's Battery limbered up
in hot haste, turned, and dashed in