while a shell exploded among them, killing a horse.

They retired by squadrons, leisurely, and in good order; but the
shells followed them, searching them out and now and then finding
them with a deafening racket and cloud of smoke, out of which
mangled horses reared, staggered, and rolled over screaming; out of
which a rider, here and there was hurled sideways, head first, or
sent spinning and headless among his white-faced comrades.

McDunn's guns had opened now, attempting to extinguish the fire of
the troublesome Confederate battery. Berkley, teeth set, pallid,
kept his place in the ranks, and hung to his horse's head until he
got the animal calmed again. One of his sleeves was covered with
blood from a comrade's horse, blown into fragments beside him.

He could see McDunn's gunners working methodically amid the vapours
steaming back from the battery as it fired by sections; saw the
guns jump, buried in smoke; saw the long flames flicker, flicker,
flicker through the cannon mist; felt the solid air strike him in
the face at each discharge.

Hallam, white as a sheet, stood motionless at the head of his
troop; a shell had just burst, but it was as though he dared not
look back until Colonel Arran rode slowly over to the stricken
company--and saw Berkley still standing at his horse's head, and
gave him a look that the younger man never forgot.

Again, by troops, the Lancers retired; and again the yelling shells
found them, and they retired to the base of a hill. And came upon
a division in full panic.

Over a culvert and down a wooded road troops of all arms were
riotously retreating, cavalry, baggage-waggons, battered fragments
of infantry regiments, ambulances, all mixed and huddled pell-mell
into a headlong retreat that stretched to the rear as far as the
eye could see.

Astonished, the Lancers looked on, not understanding, fearful of
some tremendous disaster. A regiment of regular cavalry of the
Provost Guard was riding through the fugitives, turning, checking,
cutting out, driving, separating the disorganised mob; but it was
hard work, and many got away, and teamsters began to cut traces,
and skulking cavalrymen clapped spurs and rode over screeching
deserters who blocked their path. It was a squalid sight; the
Lancers looked on appalled.

Colonel Arran rode his horse slowly along the front of his
regiment, talking quietly to his men.

"It's only one or two of the raw brigades and a few teamsters