THE rider at Piedmont Station
I shared a look of confusion with Sgt. Everly as we hid behind a fallen tree, rebel bullets zipping past us with the fury of a swarm of hornets. We could not gather how Capt. Baker had managed to survive, let alone sit atop his horse in our midst.
"Look lively," the captain extorted. "We'll push these devils back into Hell yet!"
His presence was calm amid the complete chaos of our retreat. Not 15 minutes before, we flew as fast as our legs would carry us in the face of a surprise attack by Col. Mosby's men, the Confederate raiders of some repute in this valley. Capt. Baker, it seemed was dead, blasted into oblivion by a light cannon shot which toppled the trees next to him.
We no longer heard him shouting then, and for the sake of survival forsook our skirmishing line. The rebels quickly overtook the spot where we had last seen our beloved captain; we lamented his loss. And yet, here he was, borne to us by some miracle, barking out orders.
"Captain," I said, mustering the courage to interrupt, "how did you...?" He stopped me before I could finish my question.
"Look you now, Fulton, is it?" he said, squinting as he looked me. "Beyond that thicket over there, gather our men! We shall strike back at the enemy. I mean to capture that dog Mosby myself."
He spirited away, behind us, as we crept into the thicket, gathering stragglers as we went along. We heard him shouting at others who had fled the field, and soon we were joined together again as a fighting force just beyond the sight of devils peppering our woods with fire.
"Couldn't see what happened through the fog and smoke," Everly said before I could ask him. "Could have swore I saw him toppled from his horse when the shell went off, but I must have been mistaken."
I tried to rationalize what I had thought I saw as well, my story matched that of Everly.
"But if he survived," I said to the sergeant, "why did we not see him until now? Surely he would have rode through our midst, for us to keep order as we left the field."
"For Heaven's sake, Fulton, I don't know," Everly snapped, himself trying to reason out Capt. Baker's sudden reappearance. "Perhaps he had a mind to get out of this place, then thought better of it after he was a piece away from the battle. It would have been far more suspect for him to turn up alive and well at home than it would be here."
I could not argue with that, having your battalion filled with neighbors and relatives encouraged battlefield courage through the promise of hometown disgrace for cowards should you flee from the battle and desert your post.
"Everly!" Capt. Baker shouted in our direction, "take a detachment up that way! We'll swing around from the side and catch them by surprise."
As we cleared around the small bluff, we could see the captain riding out in front of the men, encouraging them, pressing the attack back to the enemy. His courage was inspiring, he rode past the enemy without the slightest inclination that bullets were flying past him, only the battle at hand mattered.
We followed Capt. Baker's example. We swarmed down from the bluff across the enemy's pickets with fury, howling with madness as we rushed back at them. The awful din of crazed men, snapping branches and rustling leaves utterly unnerved the rebels.
So fast was their escape in the face of our attack that we swore we saw fluffy white tails on their behinds, for a rabbit could not have made better progress in beating a retreat.
We reached a fallen tree, and hearing the captain shout, held fast in that spot while the pursuit was followed by the others. The captain rode back to us. We stood near the trunk of the splintered and toppled tree, waiting his orders.
"Fulton, is it?" he said. "Seems we've won the day. But I, I can't..."
Then, most strangely, he tugged on the reins of the horse and snapped them, bearing off toward the rear at a full gallop. I could only look at Everly, my mouth open, beset by a strange curiosity.
Beneath the green boughs of the toppled tree, under a rather wide and heavy branch, I heard a sound. At first a small rustle, as if to move some of the branches out of the way, then a labored push of breath, a man's breath, struggling to catch his wind.
"Ful, Fulton, is it?" I heard the voice from under the tree. I leaped through the twisted branches to the spot.
"I can't, I can't shake the feeling that I've just had a most curious dream," the voice continued. I found myself frozen as I looked upon the face of Capt. Baker, crushed at the torso by the tree, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Everly's eyes flew open, wide and filled with fear, and every bit of color drained from him in an instant. We stood at the very tree from earlier that day, the one felled by the shell when we thought our captain missing. Neither of us had noted the spot in the heat of the battle.
"Captain?" I managed to ask. I did not know what else to say, my mind could not gather the facts into a logical sequence to suit me. I could only wonder in my head if he had been beneath this very tree for the entire battle.
"I was riding," Capt. Baker coughed. "Rallying the men back to the field to rout the rebels."
"That we have," I said. "But it could not have been a dream. We saw you there, sir, bidding us to give the rebels hell."
"Fulton, you say, we had the same dream," he said weakly. His eyes then rolled awkwardly and he made an awful clatter before he drew no more breath. I looked at Everly, neither of us able to say a word.
It seemed as if we sat there for some time, but I gather it was only a moment or two. Something disturbed the branches to my left. It was the wounded and riderless horse of Capt. Matthew Baker.
"Look lively," the captain extorted. "We'll push these devils back into Hell yet!"
His presence was calm amid the complete chaos of our retreat. Not 15 minutes before, we flew as fast as our legs would carry us in the face of a surprise attack by Col. Mosby's men, the Confederate raiders of some repute in this valley. Capt. Baker, it seemed was dead, blasted into oblivion by a light cannon shot which toppled the trees next to him.
We no longer heard him shouting then, and for the sake of survival forsook our skirmishing line. The rebels quickly overtook the spot where we had last seen our beloved captain; we lamented his loss. And yet, here he was, borne to us by some miracle, barking out orders.
"Captain," I said, mustering the courage to interrupt, "how did you...?" He stopped me before I could finish my question.
"Look you now, Fulton, is it?" he said, squinting as he looked me. "Beyond that thicket over there, gather our men! We shall strike back at the enemy. I mean to capture that dog Mosby myself."
He spirited away, behind us, as we crept into the thicket, gathering stragglers as we went along. We heard him shouting at others who had fled the field, and soon we were joined together again as a fighting force just beyond the sight of devils peppering our woods with fire.
"Couldn't see what happened through the fog and smoke," Everly said before I could ask him. "Could have swore I saw him toppled from his horse when the shell went off, but I must have been mistaken."
I tried to rationalize what I had thought I saw as well, my story matched that of Everly.
"But if he survived," I said to the sergeant, "why did we not see him until now? Surely he would have rode through our midst, for us to keep order as we left the field."
"For Heaven's sake, Fulton, I don't know," Everly snapped, himself trying to reason out Capt. Baker's sudden reappearance. "Perhaps he had a mind to get out of this place, then thought better of it after he was a piece away from the battle. It would have been far more suspect for him to turn up alive and well at home than it would be here."
I could not argue with that, having your battalion filled with neighbors and relatives encouraged battlefield courage through the promise of hometown disgrace for cowards should you flee from the battle and desert your post.
"Everly!" Capt. Baker shouted in our direction, "take a detachment up that way! We'll swing around from the side and catch them by surprise."
As we cleared around the small bluff, we could see the captain riding out in front of the men, encouraging them, pressing the attack back to the enemy. His courage was inspiring, he rode past the enemy without the slightest inclination that bullets were flying past him, only the battle at hand mattered.
We followed Capt. Baker's example. We swarmed down from the bluff across the enemy's pickets with fury, howling with madness as we rushed back at them. The awful din of crazed men, snapping branches and rustling leaves utterly unnerved the rebels.
So fast was their escape in the face of our attack that we swore we saw fluffy white tails on their behinds, for a rabbit could not have made better progress in beating a retreat.
We reached a fallen tree, and hearing the captain shout, held fast in that spot while the pursuit was followed by the others. The captain rode back to us. We stood near the trunk of the splintered and toppled tree, waiting his orders.
"Fulton, is it?" he said. "Seems we've won the day. But I, I can't..."
Then, most strangely, he tugged on the reins of the horse and snapped them, bearing off toward the rear at a full gallop. I could only look at Everly, my mouth open, beset by a strange curiosity.
Beneath the green boughs of the toppled tree, under a rather wide and heavy branch, I heard a sound. At first a small rustle, as if to move some of the branches out of the way, then a labored push of breath, a man's breath, struggling to catch his wind.
"Ful, Fulton, is it?" I heard the voice from under the tree. I leaped through the twisted branches to the spot.
"I can't, I can't shake the feeling that I've just had a most curious dream," the voice continued. I found myself frozen as I looked upon the face of Capt. Baker, crushed at the torso by the tree, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Everly's eyes flew open, wide and filled with fear, and every bit of color drained from him in an instant. We stood at the very tree from earlier that day, the one felled by the shell when we thought our captain missing. Neither of us had noted the spot in the heat of the battle.
"Captain?" I managed to ask. I did not know what else to say, my mind could not gather the facts into a logical sequence to suit me. I could only wonder in my head if he had been beneath this very tree for the entire battle.
"I was riding," Capt. Baker coughed. "Rallying the men back to the field to rout the rebels."
"That we have," I said. "But it could not have been a dream. We saw you there, sir, bidding us to give the rebels hell."
"Fulton, you say, we had the same dream," he said weakly. His eyes then rolled awkwardly and he made an awful clatter before he drew no more breath. I looked at Everly, neither of us able to say a word.
It seemed as if we sat there for some time, but I gather it was only a moment or two. Something disturbed the branches to my left. It was the wounded and riderless horse of Capt. Matthew Baker.
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