face to face and the lines became mixed. Riderless horses, emerging
from the turmoil, were running in all directions, many of them neighing
in pain and terror. Men, dismounted and wounded, were crawling away
from the threat of the trampling hoofs.

The gunners fired the cannon whenever they were sure they would not
strike down their own, but the horsemen charged upon them and wrenched
the guns from their hands, only to have them wrenched back again by the
Southerners. It was the greatest cavalry battle of the war, and the
spectacle was appalling. Many of the horses seemed to share the fury of
their riders and kicked and bit. Their beating hoofs raised an immense
cloud of dust, through which the blades of the sabres still flashed.

Harry never knew how he went through it unhurt. Looking back, it seemed
that such a thing was impossible. Yet it occurred. But he became
conscious that the Southern horsemen, after the long and desperate
struggle, were driving back those of the North. They had superior
numbers. One of the Northern divisions, after having been engaged with
infantry elsewhere, failed to come up.

Pleasanton, after daring and skill that deserved greater success,
was forced slowly to withdraw. Roused by the roar of the firing,
heavy masses of Ewell's infantry were now appearing on the horizon,
sent by Lee, with orders to hurry to the utmost. Pleasanton,
maintaining all his skill and coolness, dexterously withdrew his men
across the river, and Stuart did not consider it wise to follow.
Each side had lost heavily. Pleasanton had not only struck a hard blow,
but he had learned where Lee's army lay, and, moreover, he had shown
the horsemen of the South that those of the North were on the watch.