,
that is the foremost battalion, that the brigade commander posted
himself.

"Do _you_ mean to stay here, Colonel?" asked Fitz Hugh, in surprise
and anxiety.

"It is a certain victory now," answered Waldron, with a singular
glance upward. "My life is no longer important. I prefer to do my duty
to the utmost in the sight of all men."

"I shall follow you and do mine, Sir," said the Captain, much moved,
he could scarcely say by what emotions, they were so many and
conflicting.

"I want you other wheres. Ride to Colonel Taylor at once, and hurry
him up the hill. Tell him the enemy have greatly weakened their left.
Tell him to push up everything, infantry, and cavalry, and artillery,
and to do it in haste."

"Colonel, this is saving my life against my will," remonstrated Fitz
Hugh.

"Go!" ordered Waldron, imperiously. "Time is precious."

Fitz Hugh dashed down the slope to the right at a gallop. The brigade
commander turned tranquilly, and followed the march of his _echelon_.
The second and decisive crisis of the little battle was approaching,
and to understand it we must glance at the ground on which it was to
be fought. Two hostile lines were marching toward each other along the
broad, gently rounded crest of the hill and at right angles to its
general course. Between these lines, but much the nearest to the Union
troops, a spacious road came up out of the forest in front, crossed
the ridge, swept down the smooth decline in rear, and led to a single
wooden bridge over a narrow but deep rivulet. On either hand the road
was hedged in by a close board fence, four feet or so in height. It
was for the possession of this highway that the approaching lines were
about to shed their blood. If the Confederates failed to win it, all
their artillery would be lost, and their army captured or dispersed.

The two parties came on without firing. The soldiers on both sides
were veterans, cool, obedient to orders, intelligent through long
service, and able to reserve all their resources for a short-range
and final struggle. Moreover, the fences as yet partially hid them
from each other, and would have rendered all aim for the present vague
and uncertain.

"Forward, Fifth!" shouted Waldron. "Steady. Reserve your fire." Then,
as the regiment came up to the fence, he added, "Halt; right dress.
Steady, men."

Meantime he watched the advancing array with an eager gaze. It was a
noble sight, full of moral sublimity, and worthy of