tle, and two companies
of the 9th regiment were sent up the gorge to gain ground above and
dislodge them, which was accomplished. The fighting in and around the
battery was hand to hand, and many fell from bayonet wounds. Even the
artillerymen used their rammers in a way not laid down in the Manual,
and died at their guns. As Conan said to the devil, "'Twas claw for
claw." I called for Hays, but he, the promptest of men, and his splendid
regiment, could not be found. Something unexpected had occurred, but
there was no time for speculation. With a desperate rally, in which I
believe the drummer-boys shared, we carried the battery for the third
time, and held it. Infantry and riflemen had been driven off, and we
began to feel a little comfortable, when the enemy, arrested in his
advance by our attack, appeared. He had countermarched, and, with left
near the river, came into full view of our situation. Wheeling to the
right, with colors advanced, like a solid wall he marched straight upon
us. There seemed nothing left but to set our backs to the mountain and
die hard. At the instant, crashing through the underwood, came Ewell,
outriding staff and escort. He produced the effect of a reenforcement,
and was welcomed with cheers. The line before us halted and threw
forward skirmishers. A moment later, a shell came shrieking along it,
loud Confederate cheers reached our delighted ears, and Jackson, freed
from his toils, rushed up like a whirlwind, the enemy in rapid retreat.
We turned the captured guns on them as they passed, Ewell serving as a
gunner. Though rapid, the retreat never became a rout. Fortune had
refused her smiles, but Shields's brave "boys" preserved their
organization and were formidable to the last; and had Shields himself,
with his whole command, been on the field, we should have had tough work
indeed.

Jackson came up, with intense light in his eyes, grasped my hand, and
said the brigade should have the captured battery. I thought the men
would go mad with cheering, especially the Irishmen. A huge fellow, with
one eye closed and half his whiskers burned by powder, was riding
cock-horse on a gun, and, catching my attention, yelled out, "We told
you to bet on your boys." Their success against brother Patlanders
seemed doubly welcome. Strange people, these Irish! Fighting every one's
battles, and cheerfully taking the hot end of the poker, they are only
found wanting when engaged in what they believe to be thei