Then Shepard spoke briefly with Colonel Winchester, and disappeared again.  The fire had now died somewhat and the banks of smoke were rising, enabling Dick to see the field with a degree of clearness.  Union batteries and regiments were in line, but behind them a mass of fugitives, who had not yet recovered from the surprise and who thought the defeat complete, were pouring along the turnpike toward Winchester.  When Dick saw their numbers his fears were renewed.  He believed that if the Southern army could gather up all its forces and attack once more it would win another success.

But while he looked at the long line of fire in front of them a sudden roar of cheering rose from the Union ranks.  It became a shout, tremendous and thrilling.  Dick turned in excitement and he was about to ask what it meant, when he distinguished a name thundered again and again: 

“Sheridan!  Sheridan!  Sheridan!”

Then before them galloped their own Little Phil, seeming to bring strength, courage and victory with him.  His hat was thrown back, his face flushed, and his eyes sparkling.  Everywhere the men rallied to his call and the shouts:  “Sheridan!  Sheridan!” rolled up and down.  The fugitives too came pouring back to swell the line of battle.  Dick caught the enthusiasm at once, and felt his own pulses leaping.  He and Pennington and Warner joined in the shouts:  “Sheridan!  Sheridan!” and snatching off their caps waved them with all their vigor.

It was an amazing transformation.  A beaten and dispirited army, holding on from a sense of duty, suddenly became alive with zeal, and asked only to be led against the enemy by the general they trusted.  One man alone had worked the miracle and as his enemies had truly said his presence was worth ten thousand men.

His coming had been dramatic.  He had spent the night quietly at Winchester, but, early in the morning, he had heard the sounds of firing which steadily grew louder.  Apprehensive, he rode at once toward the distant field, and, before he had gone two miles, he met the first stragglers, bringing wild tales that the army had been routed, and that the Southerners were hot on their heels.  Sheridan rode rapidly now.  He met thicker streams of fugitives, but turned them back toward the enemy, and when he finally came upon the field itself he brought with him all the retreating regiments.

Dick never beheld a more thrilling and inspiring sight than that which occurred when Sheridan galloped among them, swinging his hat in his hand.

“What troops are these?” he had asked.

“The Sixth Corps!” hundreds of voices shouted in reply.

“We are all right!  We’ll win!” cried Sheridan.

And then, as he galloped along the line he added: 

“Never mind, boys, we’ll whip ’em yet!  We’ll whip ’em yet!  We’ll sleep in their quarters tonight!”

The roar of cheering swept up and down the line again, and Sheridan and his officers began to prepare the restored army for a new battle.  All the time the Union numbers swelled, and, as the Southern army was hesitating, Sheridan was able to post his divisions as he pleased.