The cannoneers ran to their posts, a cheer rose, the next instant the guns spouted flame; shell after shell in rapid succession screamed through the woods—and bursting in the midst of the blue groups, threw them into the wildest disorder.
Stuart did not allow the panic to subside. His sharp-shooters opened at the same instant a determined fire; the great cavalier went at full speed to the head of his column:—then rushing like an avalanche, troopers and artillery, charged the column in front, burst through, trampling it as he went, and at a gallop the gray horsemen, with guns following, broke out; and were again free.
Stuart was out of the trap. From one of the “tightest places” that a commander was ever in he had extricated his whole command.
Once in safety, he turned like a wild boar on his enemies. In ten minutes his artillery had taken a new position—its thunders had opened—its roar told the army, that his feather still floated, his star was still in the ascendant.
Such was that queer affair of Auburn. Few more curious incidents occurred in the war.
A brave officer of the infantry had accompanied us as an amateur.
“I’ve got enough of the cavalry,” he said, laughing; “I am going back to the infantry. It is safer!”