merely. The shadows were lengthening, the undergrowth was
thick; they could not see their opponents. Suddenly the coppice blazed,
a well-directed and fatal volley. The regiment that held this wood had a
good record and meant to-day to better it. Its target was visible
enough, and close, full before it in the last golden light. A grey
officer fell, the sword that he had brandished described a shining curve
before it plunged into a clump of sumach. Five men lay upon the earth;
the colour-bearer reeled, then pitched forward. The man behind him
caught the colours. The 58th fired again, then, desperately, continued
its advance. Smoke and flame burst again from the coppice. A voice of
Stentor was heard. "Now Pennsylvania Bucktails, you're making history!
Do your durndest!"

"Close ranks!" shouted the officer of the 58th. "Close ranks! Forward!"
There came a withering volley. The second colour-bearer sank; a third
seized the standard. Another officer was down; there were gaps in the
ranks and under feet the wounded. The regiment wavered.

From the left came a bay stallion, devouring the earth, legs and head
one tawny line, distended nostril and red-lit eye. The rider loosened
from his shoulders a scarlet-lined cloak, lifted and shook it in the
air. It flared out with the wind of his coming, like a banner, or a
torch. He sent his voice before him, "Charge, men, charge!"

Spasmodically the 58th started forward. The copse, all dim and smoky,
flowered again, three hundred red points of fire. The sound was
crushing, startling, beating at the ear drum. The Bucktails were
shouting, "Come on, Johnny Reb! Go back, Johnny Reb! Don't know what you
want to do, do you, Johnny Reb?"

Ashby and the bay reached the front of the regiment. There was disorder,
wavering, from underfoot groans and cries. So wrapped in smoke was the
scene, so dusk, with the ragged and mournful woods hiding the low sun,
that it was hard to distinguish the wounded. It seemed as though it was
the earth herself complaining.

"On, on, men!" cried Ashby. "Help's coming--the Maryland Line!" There
was a wavering answer, half cheer, half-wailing cry, "_Ashby! Ashby!_"
Two balls pierced the bay stallion. He reared, screamed loudly, and fell
backward. Before he touched the earth the great horseman of the Valley
was clear of him. In the smoke and din Ashby leaped forward, waving the
red-lined cloak above his head. "Charge, men!" he cried. "For God's
sake, charge!" A bull