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Why couldn't he dress rather more quietly? Daly was there in all his glory, and the Field-Marshal as lank and cadaverous as ever; and besides ourselves there was Whipcord with the straw in his mouth, and one or two other fellows belonging to our host's particular set. The supper was quite as elaborate and a good deal more noisy than that at Doubleday's.

Volley after volley was poured into the advancing column, without avail, except to stretch many of its men upon the ground, wounded and dying. At length the brigades of Doubleday's own division were ordered to charge upon the obstinate line. They obeyed with alacrity, their cheers and shouts ringing above the roar of musketry.

When earliest dawn streaked the sky the logs were still smoking, and the cowboys, rifles in hand, walked down to where the cabin had stood. Everything within the walls had been consumed. Long after daylight, with some of the men asleep, and others waiting for the fire to cool, one of Doubleday's cowboys, poking about the sill log of the rear wall with a stick, gave a shout.

The bench land lying in front of it was as smooth as a table and covered with mountain blue stem. Out of the level ground, a hundred yards from the edge of the bench where Doubleday's party had halted, rose a huge and solitary fragment of rock.

I had then with me, in addition to my eight regiments amounting to about 8,000 men and a few cavalry, Doubleday's heavy United States battery of 20 and 30 pounders, and a very good Rhode Island battery. And I was willing to take the risk, whether Gen. Patterson followed me up or not, of placing myself between Johnston and the Shenandoah River, rather than let Johnston escape.

But on the Richmond road were the divisions of Birney and Newton, with Doubleday's and Sickles' not far in rear, and 20,000 bayonets might have been thrown rapidly into the gap which the Pennsylvanians had so vigorously forced. Yet Jackson's equanimity was undisturbed.

Then he called promptly to the kitchen: "Ben, get up some flour for Abe." Ben quavered a protest. "Get it up now before you forget it," insisted Laramie. "Is Tom Stone still foreman over at Doubleday's?" "I guess he is," returned Laramie. "What does Doubleday aim to do with Stone?" asked Hawk, cynically, "steal his own cattle from himself?"

Then presently, though how long afterwards I can't say, I remember being out in the road and hearing some one propose to ring all the bells down a certain street, and joining in the assent which greeted the proposition. Whether I actually took part in the escapade I was too confused to know, but I became conscious of Doubleday's voice close beside me crying, "Look-out, there's a bobby. Run!"

"I'd say it was Abe Hawk." A bomb exploding in the smoking remnants could hardly have caused more consternation among the man hunters than the Snipe's naming of Abe Hawk. But however Doubleday's jaw set at the unwelcome surprise he was not the one to swerve in the face of any personal danger, and those with him were not men to bolt whatever adventure they embarked in.

Doubleday's division, struck fiercely in front and flank, reeled back in confusion past the Miller House, and although the gallant Starke fell dead, the Confederates recovered the ground which they had lost. Jackson's men had not been left unaided.