A few of the men in gray had been killed, and all the wounded were taken inside the warehouse, into which the great tobacco barn had been turned. Two competent surgeons attended to them by the light of candles, while the garrison outside lay still and waiting under the heavy fire.
“A waste of lead,” said Sherburne to Harry. “They reckon, perhaps, that we're all recruits, and will be frightened into retreat or surrender.”
“If we had those guns now we could clear out the woods in short order,” said Harry.
“And if they had 'em they could soon blow up this barn, everything in it and a lot of us at the same time. So we are more than even on the matter of the lack of guns.”
The fire from the wood died in about fifteen minutes and was succeeded by a long and trying silence. The light of the moon deepened, and silvered the faces of the dead lying in the open. All the survivors of the attack were hidden, but the defenders knew that they were yet in the forest.
“Kenton,” said Captain Sherburne, “you know the way to General Jackson's camp at Winchester.”
“I've been over it a dozen times.”
“Then you must mount and ride. This force is sitting down before us for a siege, and it probably has pickets about the village, but you must get through somehow. Bring help! The Yankees are likely to send back for help, too, but we've got to win here.”
“I'm off in five minutes,” said Harry, “and I'll come with a brigade by dawn.”
“I believe you will,” said Sherburne. “But get to Old Jack! Get there! If you can only reach him, we're saved! He may not have any horsemen at hand, but his foot cavalry can march nearly as fast! Lord, how Stonewall Jackson can cover ground!”