There was a turn in the road a short
distance ahead. As they dashed around it, now close behind the flying
man, they found themselves in the clearing at the crossing of the
roads. Why do they rein in their plunging steeds so suddenly? Well
they may! Not six rods off the entire rebel line of two hundred men is
drawn up. They hear Hubbard give the order "Present!" and the muskets
of the men rise to their cheeks.
"We're dead men. God help my wife!" says Colonel Elijah Williams, who
rides at Sedgwick's side. Advance or retreat is alike impossible and
the forthcoming volley can not fail to annihilate them.
"Leave it to me," says Sedgwick, quietly, and the next instant he is
galloping quite alone toward the line of levelled guns. Seeing but one
man coming the rebels withhold their fire. Reining up his horse within
a yard of the muzzles of the guns he says in a loud, clear,
authoritative voice:
"What are you doing here, men? Laban Jones, Abner Rathbun, Meshech
Little, do you want to hang for murder? Throw down your arms. You're
surrounded on three sides. You can't escape. Throw down your arms and
I'll see you're not harmed. Throw away your guns. If one of them
should go off by accident in your hands, you couldn't be saved from
the gallows.
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