Nothing transpired worthy of mention until the 27th of December, when the heavy booming of cannon was heard in the vicinity of the picket-line. It was evident that the enemy were making a descent on the pickets. For several days this attack had been expected, therefore in a few minutes the command was ready and in line of battle. The pickets gradually gave way, under the command of the indomitable Creighton, fighting their way back to the line of battle, in which they took position. The rebels came gallantly forward, in anticipation of an easy victory. When within short-range of our guns, they were met by such a terrible fire of musketry from our partially concealed line, as to check their advance. They, however, rallied, and returned the fire; but in a moment staggered, and finally withdrew in confusion from the field. Again forming their broken columns, they hurled themselves against our line. They were again met by a determined front, and, with a like result, were sent, broken and mangled, back upon their reserves. A third time reforming their wasted ranks, they came down with great impetuosity, and hurled their solid columns against the weak lines of the Federals. They were again met with a sheet of flame, which sent up its column of blue smoke along the entire front. For a moment it was impossible to tell the effect produced on the rebels; but the smoke clearing away before a light breeze, it was discovered that their advance had been arrested. One more united effort, and the rebel line was again sent back crushed and bleeding. They again organized for a last desperate charge, and most gallantly did they sweep down upon our line. Up the hill and over the brush and logs, which lay in their way, with wild impetuosity, which threatened to crush every thing before them. Aware of the avalanche that was sweeping down upon them, the Union boys hugged the ground, awaiting, with breathless anxiety, the command to fire. At last the stentorian voice of the sturdy Crane was heard to shout the order, when a band of patriots, their eyes kindled to a blaze with the ardor of their daring, with strong muscles and steady nerves, rose, and with a shout that made the gray hills of old Dumfries echo, poured a volley of death into the rebel host. Disdaining to again take refuge under cover, the line stood manfully up, and met the continued onsets of the foe. The brave Creighton stood on a hill exposed to the fire—how could men falter while the noble form of their leader was thus bared to the bullets of the enemy? They did not falter; but the line stood like a wall. The rebels were soon seen to waver, and as the night "cast its mantle over the combatants," they tardily and solemnly withdrew, bearing with them the lacerated, bleeding victims to their endurance.
At night the line was drawn in, and after making every effort for the security of the command, the boys lay down upon their arms, harassed by an oppressive uncertainty which always haunts the soldier in the bivouac upon the battle-field.
During that long night the lonely picket-guard peered out into the darkness, intent upon catching the first footfall of the cautious foe. Slowly and with careful tread he paced his weary beat, fearful that he might be pounced upon by the wily enemy ere he could give the alarm to his slumbering companions. Through rain, and sleet, and darkness—oppressed with the solemn stillness that at night hangs over the earth—with a sense of loneliness weighing upon his feelings—he stood like a spectre in the gloom, the guardian of the thousands slumbering in the camp. While others dream of home, and friends, and firesides, afar off on the hills of New England, or the starlit prairies of the West, the wakeful picket keeps his vigil. May God protect him in his watch!
As day again dispelled the shadows that darkened the hills and the valleys, the columns of the brave Sigel were seen winding their way through the village. A shout of welcome greeted these heroes. The dreadful suspense that had weighed upon the hearts of the combatants of the day before, during that long night of watching, now gave place to cheerfulness; and confidence was again restored. But the cautions Hampton had fled; and nothing met the eye save the frowning hills.
The following is the list of killed and wounded in this affair:
Killed.—Corporal Austin Ball.
Wounded.—Corporal E. M. Corrdett; privates, Sylvester Carter, Philip Grigsby, Thomas Roff, Wm. P. Root, Wm. H. Kibbee, W. M. Perry, Stephen Willock.
Prisoners.—John Gordon, Andrew Atleff, Richard M. Vreeland, Douglass F. Pomeroy, Henry T. Benton, Lewis T. Butts, Henry Alderman, Charles Bradly, James Snider, John Beiler, W. M. Perry.