a quick order is received; in a moment two brigades are summoned from the nearest trenches, a feeble force against the thick massed foe, scarce one to five, but no other aid was near and delay was ruin. In that line, close by the colors of the old Forty-ninth Virginia, stood your Fauquier Guards, veterans now of three campaigns, tried and trusted. An officer upon an iron-gray rides to the front. He utters no word, but points forward to the foe and advances to lead the charge. He turns his face towards us now. The sight of that face, full of calm resolve, sends a thrill of dismay through each heart, for there amid the already whistling bullets, they recognize in him the idolized commander of the army. To throw their own bodies in front of him is the involuntary impulse of their devotion. The gallant Gordon, the commander of of the charging column sees the situation. Dashing up he lays his hand upon the bridle-rein of his commander, "General Lee, this, sir, is not your place; we will drive these people back, sir. These men are Virginians, they never yet have failed and they will not now; will you boys?" "No! No!" bursts from the eager lines, "General Lee to the rear! General Lee to the rear; we can't do anything till General Lee goes to the rear," and while one reverently leads the iron-grey back through the opening line, right where your Guards were standing, the ringing voice of Gordon sounded "forward."
Not with noisy shout nor rapid rush, but with stern-set faces and measured tread the line advanced. Veterans of many fields, their practiced eye perceived that on that charge depended the fate of the army, and each felt
| "As if 'twere he On whose sole arm hung victory." |
I saw their faces set in grim determination, for the odds were fearful; but down the line I heard a word of exhortation pass from mouth to mouth, the watch-word for the battle, "Remember General Lee is looking at us"; aye, and depending on us too, was the thought which filled their hearts as they surmount an intervening rise in the wooded ground and burst upon the crowded foe, scarce twenty paces off. With a shout and deafening roar of musketry they rush upon their thick-set ranks. The enemy received them with the steel. Their guns are empty, and alas! they have no bayonet fixed—no time to set them; what shall they do? They will do aught but fail. With stern resolve they club their muskets and hurl themselves upon the foe. Their desperate valor wins; the foemen waver, cower and give way. With a shout of triumph the ardent victors press upon them and hurl them on
