to their leader for commands, and the officer held the infantry. Harry's
moment of admiration and pity passed. These were soldiers coming to
defeat and destroy, and it was his business to help prevent it. His own
pulse of battle began to beat hard.

That front of steel, spread wide across the open, was within two hundred
yards now! Then a hundred and fifty! Then a hundred! Then less,
and fierce and sharp like the crack of a rifle came Captain Sherburne's
command: "Fire!"

Four hundred rifles leaped to the shoulder and four hundred fingers
pressed trigger so close together that four hundred rifles sang together
as one. The charge halted in its tracks. The entire front rank was shot
away. Horses and men went down together, and the horses uttered neighs
of pain, far more terrific than the groans of the wounded men. Many of
them, riderless, galloped up and down between the lines.

But the splendid horsemen behind came on again, after the momentary stop.
Half of them armed with short carbines sent a volley at the defenders,
who were shoving in cartridges in frantic haste, and the swordsmen
galloped straight upon the Virginians.

Harry saw a great saber flashing directly in his face. It was wielded
by a man on a powerful horse that seemed wild with the battle fever.
The horse, at the moment, was more terrible than his rider. His mouth
was dripping with foam, and his lips were curled back from his cruel,
white teeth. His eyes, large and shot with blood, were like those of
some huge, carnivorous animal.

The boy recoiled, more in fear of the horse than of the saber, and