“You must remember that the demand for a surrender comes before a fight,” said Mr. Sprague. “They may be up here in an hour, and I think I had better send some men down there to reinforce those pickets.”
“I’ll go for one,” and “I’ll go for another,” were the exclamations that arose from the crowd, and in less time than it takes to tell it five hundred men were all mounted and armed, and rode up to the porch to listen to their final instructions from Mr. Knight. Leon wanted to go, too, but a positive shake of the head from his father told him that that thing wouldn’t do at all.
“You will get fighting enough if you stay right here,” said Mr. Sprague. “You do your duty here under my eye and that is all I shall ask of you.”
“Make as good a fight as you can, boys,” said Mr. Knight. “Only, don’t let them get behind you. Be sure and retreat while you have the chance.”[chance.”]
The reinforcements rode on down the road with Mr. Dawson in command, and as soon as they were out of sight a silence fell upon the men they had left behind. All were listening for the first report of a carbine or rifle that should announce the opening of the battle. One hour passed, and then two, and just as darkness came down to conceal the movements of the rebels the long-wished-for report came. It was followed by a moment’s silence, and then it seemed as if a hurricane was going through the woods. The Confederates had deployed their line until it reached the woods, where it was lost to view, and in that manner charged across the stream and through the timber. But where were the Union men who were to oppose them? For three miles they went through the woods, and then all of a sudden the opposition came when they least expected it. It was the report of a carbine in the hands of young Dawson, and the nearest colonel threw up his arms and fell from his horse. A moment afterward the woods were fairly aflame in advance of them. Scarcely a yell was heard, for the Union men fought as though they had life and liberty at stake.
“Fire low, boys,” said Mr. Dawson, as he loaded up for another shot. “If you strike a man in the legs it will take two to carry him off.”
The Union men fired three times before they thought of retreat, and the middle of the line was not only thrown into confusion, but it was annihilated, so that their officers could not get anybody to charge upon their concealed enemy; but the wings were all right—they were stretched out so far in the woods that they could easily wrap around the Union men and capture them all—and they hastily got on their horses and beat a quick retreat. The company that came along the road was badly cut up. They were marching in column of fours, and it was their intention, after they got the Union men in full flight, to follow them in, and they would go with such rapidity that they would take the breastworks at once. But after the smoke had cleared away there wasn’t more than a dozen men left. The riders had been shot down, and the horses, having no one to control them, were running frantically about, trampling the dead and dying under their feet.
“That’s pretty well done for the first time,” said Mr. Dawson, when he had made up his mind that all of his battalion were in the road. The rest were in the woods, and could easily fight their way to Ellisville. “Now, boys, give them as good as they send.”
The retreat to Ellisville was accomplished in short order, and when the rebels broke from the woods and uttered their charging yell they couldn’t see a single man. They were all behind their breastworks.
“I tell you we gave it to them down there in the woods,” said Dawson, as he rode along behind the breastworks until he found Leon and Tom. “You ought to have been along. I reckon I have paid the rebels for burning our house. I lifted one officer out of his saddle as clean as a whistle.”