Crossing Poplar Mountain and passing into the valley, we halted to see a friendly doctor; but not until our picket had been sent forward in case of a surprise, for we suspected that the enemy was not far off. Calling to see the doctor we found him absent, but his lady informed us that he had gone to visit a patient near the “Yankee encampment,” and would soon return. It was exciting to one’s nerves to hear that the enemy was so near.
Mounting our horses we advanced scarce three miles, when we halted opposite a widow’s house, whose son was in Wolford’s Yankee Kentucky Cavalry. All of the surroundings intimated that the enemy was near, but nothing save a sight of him would do us. Ordering two of the boys ahead for “lookouts,” with the intention of soon following, we dismounted to inspect the widow’s establishment to see if there was anything about that had Uncle Sam on it, but discovered nothing worth carrying away. I am, however, convinced of the fact that the widow sent a courier to camp to apprise them of our whereabouts.
Just as we mounted there came the sharp report of a Minie, then another, and still another in quick succession. We soon learned that there was something in that direction that had “U. S.” upon it. As proof of that fact, there came the videttes, flying like the wind, from whom I learned that a large force of Yankee cavalry was hotly pursuing them. I quickly instructed the guide and those with me to fall rapidly back to the gap through which the road passes over Poplar Mountain, then gave them orders to dismount and fight upon reaching there and if possible to hold the gap, and I would join them in a short while.
The place selected was one that had been closely observed while passing it, being a position possessing advantages closely resembling the Pass of Thermopylae, so often quoted in history, and where a chosen few, under Leonidas, defeated such multitudes. Do not let my comparisons amuse you too much. I will confess they are sometimes used strangely and no doubt inappropriately; yet there must be some likeness, you will admit. Nor do I wish you to think the commander of this little band a Leonidas, or the gap in the mountain Thermopylae. Most assuredly not; but think you what it pleases, for it is time to end this topic.
Here come the Yankee cavalry, full tilt, the scouts being already out of sight. But the “Black Horse,” which had so often proven himself true, thereby gaining his rider’s entire confidence, stood firm, with his head to the foe, violently champing his bit, eagerly and nervously watching the approach of the then over-confident enemy, awaiting the word to go. As they turned an angle in the road, less than one hundred yards distant, we took the liberty of counting them. I counted seventeen, and still they came; and as they came the cry was “Halt! Halt!”—a word with no meaning in this case.
The “Black Horse” was still standing deathly still. The enemy opened the firing about sixty yards off, to which one of Colt’s—English—best replied twice in quick succession, and then the gallant “Black,” with his rider’s permission, executed one of the most brilliant feats in horse history. Rearing up and posing gracefully, he changed his front at one leap, and quick as thought was in a dead run, followed by the Yanks, firing and yelling, but to no purpose, for the “Black” had the heels on them.
Dropping reins and turning half around in the saddle, several well-directed shots were aimed back when occasion required it and opportunity offered, and the shots seemed to carry some little influence with them. We noticed that those leading the column were not so eager or so particular to use their rowels too often, for fear of getting disagreeably near.
When near the gap, where my men were lying in ambush, I reined up, hoping to draw the enemy on; but the situation of the country looked so suspicious that they held up also. Thinking they would pursue, I again rode rapidly forward, passing through the gap without seeing a man, yet knowing that they were there and on the alert.
But the suspicious foe could not be prevailed upon or enticed to follow a single horseman through, imagining, doubtless, that there was a larger force awaiting them in ambuscade. We remained there for some time, then perceiving that it was not their intention to advance on us, and apprehending a flank movement, we slowly withdrew on the road to Albany.
Two roads from beyond the gap led into town, and by using one of them we could be intercepted. Knowing this, it was thought wise to leave town over night, and strike the road a mile beyond, which we did with the assistance of our guide.