General Hooker was wounded and the report flew over the Federal army that he had been killed. To allay their fears the General had himself lifted into the saddle and rode down his lines and out of sight, when he was taken unconscious from his horse.
Sedgwick was fighting his way with desperation now to force Marye"s Heights and strike Lee"s rear.
Once more the stone wall blazed with death for the gallant men in blue.
They dashed themselves against it wave on wave, only to fall back in confusion. They tried to flank it and failed. Hour after hour the mad charges rolled against this hill and broke in deep red pools at its base. There were but nine thousand men holding it against forty thousand, but it was afternoon before the grey lines slowly gave way and Sedgwick"s victorious troops poured over the hill toward Lee"s lines.
Hooker had asked him to appear at daylight. The long rows and mangled heaps of the dead left on Marye"s b.l.o.o.d.y slopes was sufficient answer to all inquiries as to his delay.
But the way was still blocked. The receding line of grey was suddenly supported by Early"s division detached from Lee"s reserves. Again Sedgwick was stopped and fought until dark.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Waving his plumed hat ... he put himself at the head of his troops and charged."]
As the sun was sinking over the smoke-wreathed spring-clothed trees of the wilderness, Stuart gathered Jackson"s corps for a desperate a.s.sault on Hooker"s last line of defense. Waving his plumed hat high above his handsome bearded face, he put himself at the head of his troops and charged, chanting with boyish enthusiasm his improvised battle song:
"Old--Joe--Hooker, Won"t you come out o" the Wilderness!
Come out o" the Wilderness!
Come out o" the Wilderness!
Old--Joe--Hooker-- Come out o" the Wilderness-- Come--come--I say!"
The cheering grey waves swept all before them and left Lee in full possession of Chancellorsville and the whole position the Federal army had originally held.
As the Confederates rolled on, driving the fiercely fighting men in blue before them, Lee himself rode forward to encourage his men and then it happened--the thing for which the great have fought, and longed, and dreamed since time dawned--the spontaneous tribute of the brave to a trusted leader.
His victorious troops went wild at the sight of him. Above the crash and roar of battle rose the shouts of the Southerners:
"Hurrah for Lee!"
"Lee!"
"Lee!"
From lip to lip the thrilling name leaped until the wounded and the dying turned their eyes to see and raised their feeble voices:
"Lee!--Lee!--Lee!"
It was at this moment that he received the note from Jackson announcing that he was badly wounded. With the shouts of his men ringing in his ears, he drew his pencil and wrote across the pommel of his saddle:
"GENERAL: I have just received your note informing me that you are wounded. I cannot express my regret at the occurrence. Could I have directed events, I should have chosen, for the good of the country, to be disabled in your stead.
"I congratulate you upon the victory which is due to your skill and energy.
"Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
"R. E. LEE, "GENERAL."
It was quick, b.l.o.o.d.y work next day for the Southerner to turn and spring on Sedgwick with the ferocity of a tiger, crush and hurl his battered and bleeding corps back on the river.
Under cover of a storm General Couch, in command of Hooker"s army, retreated across the Rappahannock. The blue and grey picket lines that night were so close to each other the men could talk freely. The Southern boys were chaffing the Northerners over their oft repeated defeats. Through the darkness a Yankee voice drawled:
"Ah, Johnnie, shut up--you make us tired! You"re not so much as you think you are. Swap Generals with us and we"ll come over and lick h.e.l.l out of you!"
A silence fell over the boasting ones and then the listening Yankee heard a low voice chuckle to his comrade:
"I"m d.a.m.ned if they wouldn"t, too!"
When the grey dawn broke through the storm they began to bury the dead and care for the wounded. The awful struggle had ended at last.
The Northern army had lost seventeen thousand men, the Southerners thirteen thousand.
It was a great victory for the South, but a few more such victories and there would be none of her brave boys left to tell the story.
John Vaughan"s company had been detailed to help in cleaning the field.
The day before, on Sunday morning, they had eaten their breakfast seated on the ground among hundreds of dead bodies whose odor poisoned the air.
It is needless to say, Julius was not present. He had kept the river between him and the roar of contending hosts.
The suffering of the wounded had been terrible. Some of them had fallen on Friday, thousands on Sat.u.r.day, and it was now Monday. All through the blood-soaked tangled woods they lay groaning and dying. And everywhere the flap of black wings. The keen-eyed vultures had seen from the sky where they fell.
John found a brave old farmer from Northern New York lying beside his son. He had met them in the fight at Fredericksburg in December.
"Well, here we are, Vaughan," the father cried feebly. "My boy"s dead, and I"ll be with him soon--but it"s all right--it"s all right--my country"s worth it!"
They were lying in a bright open s.p.a.ce, where the warm sun of May had pushed the wood violets into blossom in rich profusion. The dead boy"s head lay in a bed of blue flowers.
Some of the bodies further on were black and charred by the flames that had swept the woods again and again during the battles. Some of them had been wounded men and they had been burned to death. Their twisted bodies and the agony on their cold faces told the hideous story more plainly than words. The odor of burning flesh still filled the air in these black spots.
With a start John suddenly came on the crouching figure of a Confederate soldier kneeling behind a stump, the paper end of the cartridge was in his teeth and his fingers still grasped the ball. He was just in the act of tearing the paper as a bullet crashed straight through his forehead.
A dark streak of blood marked his face and clothes. His gun was in his other hand, the muzzle in place to receive the cartridge, the body cold and rigid in exactly the position death had called him.
A broad-shouldered, bearded man in blue had just fallen asleep nearby.
The body was still warm, the blue eyes wide open, staring into the leaden sky. On his breast lay an open Bible with a b.l.o.o.d.y finger mark on the lines:
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want He maketh me to lie down in green pastures-- He restoreth my soul."
A hundred yards further lay a dead boy from his own company. The stiff hands were still holding a picture of his sweetheart before the staring eyes. Near him lay a boy in grey with a sweetheart"s letter clasped in his hand. They had talked and tried to cheer one another, these dying boys--talked of those they loved in far off villages as the mists of eternity had gathered about them.
It was late that night before the wounded had all been moved. Through every hour of its black watches the surgeons, with their sleeves rolled high, their arms red, bent over their tasks, until legs and arms were piled in ghastly heaps ten feet high.
As John Vaughan turned from the scene where he had laid a wounded man to wait his turn, his eye caught the look of terror on the face of a wounded Southern boy. He was a slender little dark-haired fellow, under sixteen, a miniature of Ned. The surgeon had just taken up his knife to cut into the deep flesh wound for the Minie ball embedded there. John saw the slender face go white and the terror-stricken young eyes search the room for help. His breath came in quick gasps and he was about to faint.
John slipped his arm around him:
"Just a minute, Doctor----"
He pressed his hand and whispered:
"Come now, little man, you"re among your enemies. You"ve got to be brave. Show your grit for the South. I"ve got a brother in your army who looks like you. No white feather now when these Yankees can see you."
The slender figure stiffened and his eyes flashed: