must be lost. Soon musketry rattled and cannon boomed loudly, and in the midst of this some of the Union forces began to retreat.
It was at this time that General Sheridan made his wonderful ride—that ride which has been so beautifully idealized by T. Buchanan Read in his poem, "Sheridan's Ride," known to schoolboys and schoolgirls all over our broad land.
Sheridan was at Winchester, about fourteen miles from the battle-ground. He had arrived there the night before, tired out with riding, and had been met by a staff officer with tidings that all was well at Cedar Creek. Thinking it would not be necessary to move on to the camp at such an hour, he retired in Winchester and was soon fast asleep.
The booming of a warning gun early in the morning made him leap up as if electrified. What could that mean? He listened and heard more guns—a regular cannonading. "The battle must be on!" he muttered to himself, and in quick haste donned his clothes, pulled on his spurred cavalry boots, and hurried into the open.
