and the troops under him felt that a great commander was showing them
the way. His vigor secured the slopes and crest of Cemetery Hill,
but the Southern masses nevertheless were pouring forward in full tide.

The combat had now lasted about two hours, and, a stray gust of wind
lifting the smoke a little, Harry caught a glimpse of a vast blazing
amphitheater of battle. He had regarded it at first as an affair of
vanguards, but now he realized suddenly that this was the great battle
they had been expecting. Within this valley and on these ridges and
hills it would be fought, and even as the thought came to him the
conflict seemed to redouble in fury and violence, as fresh brigades
rushed into the thick of it.

Harry's horse was killed by a shell as he rode toward a wood on the
Cashtown road, which both sides were making a desperate effort to
secure. Fortunately he was able to leap clear and escape unhurt.
In a few moments Dalton was dismounted in almost the same manner,
but the two on foot kept at the head of the column and rushed with
the skirmishers into the bushes. There they knelt, and began to fire
rapidly on the Union men who were advancing to drive them out.

Harry saw an officer in a general's uniform leading the charge. The
bullets of the skirmishers rained upon the advance. One struck this
general in the head, when he was within twenty yards of the riflemen,
and he fell stone dead. It was the gallant and humane Reynolds, falling
in the hour of his greatest service. But his troops, wild with ardor
and excitement, not noticing his death, still rushed upon the wood.

The charge came with such violence and in such numbers that the Southern
skirmishers and infantry in the wood were overpowered. They were driven