division was not making much progress. The men in blue were holding
their ground with extraordinary stubbornness. Although the Southern
fire, coming closer, had grown much more deadly, they refused to yield.

Buford, who had chosen that battlefield and who was the first to command
upon it, would not let his men give way. His great hour had come,
and he may have known it. Watching through his glasses he had seen long
lines of Southern troops upon the hills, marching toward Gettysburg.
He knew that they were the corps of Hill, drawn by the thunder of the
battle, and he felt that if he could hold his ground yet a while longer
help for him too would come, drawn in the same manner.

Harry once caught sight of this officer, a native of Kentucky like
himself. He was covered with dust and perspiration, but he ran up and
down, encouraging his men and often aiming the cannon himself. It was
good fortune for the North that he was there that day. The Southern
generals, uncertain whether to push the battle hard or wait for Lee,
recoiled a little before his tremendous resistance.

But the South hesitated only for a moment. Hill, pale from an illness,
but always full of fire and resolution, was hurrying forward his massive
columns, their eagerness growing as the sound of the battle swelled.
They would overwhelm the Union force, sweep it away.

Yet the time gained by Buford had a value beyond all measurements.
The crash of the battle had been heard by Union troops, too, and
Reynolds, one of the ablest Union generals, was leading a great column
at the utmost speed to the relief of the general who had held his ground
so well. A signalman stationed in the belfry of the seminary reported
to Buford the advance of Reynolds, and the officer, eager to verify it,