had, over and over again,
broken through the granite mass of packed squares and bristling
bayonets, the Southerners, raising their wild war-whoop, thundered on to
the bridge, which, strongly framed of stone and iron, had withstood the
shock, as they had foreseen; and while the fiery glare shone, and the
seething flame hissed, on the boiling waters below, swept, full gallop,
over the torn limbs, the blackened bodies, the charred wood, the falling
timbers, the exploding powder, with which the passage of the bridge was
strewn, and charged through the hellish din, the lurid fire, the heavy
smoke, at a headlong pace, down into the Federal camp.

A thousand shots fell like hail amongst them, but not a saddle was
emptied, not even a trooper was touched; and with their line unbroken,
and the challenge of their war-shout pealing out upon the uproar, they
rode through the confusion worse confounded, and cutting their way
through shot and sabre, through levelled rifles, and through piled
earthworks, with their horses breathing fire, and the roar of the
opening musketry pealing out upon their rear, dashed on, never drawing
rein, down into the darkness of the front defile, and into the freshness
of the starry summer night, saved by the leader that they loved,
and--FREE!

* * * * *

"Tarnation cheeky thing to do. Guess they ain't wise to rile us that
way," said a Federal general from Vermont, as they discussed this
exploit of the Eight Hundred at the Federal head-quarters.

"A splendid thing!" said an English visitor to the Northern camp, who
had come for a six months' tour to see the war for himself, having been
in his own time the friend of Paget and Vivian and Londonderry, the
comrade of Picton, of Mackinnon, and of Arthur Wellesley. "A magnificent
thing! I remember Bouchard did something the same sort of thing at
Amarante, but not half so pluckily, nor against any such odds. Who's the
fellow that led the charge? I'd give anything to see him and tell him
what I think of it. How Will Napier would have loved him, by George!"

"Who's the d----d rebel, Jed?" said the General, taking his gin-sling.

"Think he's an Englishman. We'd give ten thousand dollars for him, alive
or dead: he's fifty devils in one, that _I_ know," responded the Colonel
of Artillery, thus appealed to, a gentlemanlike, quiet man, educated at
West Point.

"God bless the fellow! I'm glad he's English!" said the English visitor,