Love under Fire

by Randall Parrish

His naturally florid face reddened with anger.

"I'm not here to joke," he retorted. "General Chambers wishes me to offer you a last opportunity to surrender without bloodshed."

"And if I refuse?"

"We shall attack at once, sir," haughtily. "A glance about will show you the helplessness of your position."

I waited long enough to glance again over the scene. I was convinced they possessed no artillery which could be spared from the front for this small affair, and believed we were capable of making a strong defence against musketry. With the exception of that battalion of infantry near the gate, and the cavalry regiment in the orchard, every organized body of troops was being hurried forward to strengthen their line of battle. Even General Chambers and his staff had disappeared over the hill, and every sound that reached us evidenced a warm engagement. The stream of wounded soldiers flowing back across the pike was thickening, and Federal shells were already doing damage at this distance.

"I thank you for your information," I said civilly, "but we shall endeavor to hold the house."

"You mean to fight!"

"Yes--if you wish this place you will have to come and take it."

He drew back his horse, yet with head turned, hopeful I might say more. But I stepped back through the window, and as I disappeared he clapped in his spurs, and rode out into the orchard. A moment later the dismounted troopers spread out into a thin line, covering the front and left of the house, unslung their carbines and began to load. Something about the way they went at it convinced me they expected no very serious resistance. A word to my men on that floor brought them to the point threatened by this first attack, and I gave them swift, concise orders--no firing until they heard a signal shot from the front hall; then keep it up while there was a man standing in range; carbines first, after that revolvers, and keep down out of sight from below. I looked into their faces, confident of obedience, and then ran down stairs.

Here the two sergeants--veterans both--had anticipated everything, and massed their men at the windows facing front and left. They lay flat, protected in every possible way, and each man had an extra gun beside him, and a pile of cartridges. Mahoney was in the parlor, and Miles in the hall, watchful of each movement without. I gave them the instructions about withholding their fire, and, grasping a carbine myself, pushed forward to where I could see outside. The troopers were already moving, advancing slowly in open order, but came to a halt just within carbine range. At sharp command their guns came up, and they poured a volley into the house. Beyond a shattering of glass no damage was done, but under the cover of the smoke, the gray line leaped forward. I waited until they reached the gravel, and then pulled trigger. Almost to the instant the whole front and side of the house blazed into their very faces, not once only, but twice, three times, the men grabbing gun after gun. It was not in flesh and blood to stand it; the line crumbled up as though seared by fire, men fell prone, others staggered back blinded, and, almost before we realized, there remained nothing out there but a fleeing crowd, leaving behind their dead and wounded. Only three men had placed foot on the porch, and they lay there motionless; one had grasped the sill of a window, and had fallen back with a crushed skull. It was all over with so quickly that through the smoke we looked at each other dazed, and then stared out at the flying figures. I groped my way from room to room, ordering a reloading of the guns, and asking if there were any injured. The walls were scarred by bullets much of the piled up furniture splintered, but only two men had been hit, and their, wounds were slight.