“Bully for you!” shouted McDunn.  “I hope to God that cowardly monkey cavalry saw you!”

The left section swung on the centre to get its position; limber after limber dashed up, clashing and clanking, to drop its gun; caisson after caisson rounded to under partial cover in the farm lane to the right.

The roar of the conflict along the river had become terrific; to the east a New Jersey battery, obscured in flame-shot clouds, was retiring by its twenty-eight-foot prolonges, using cannister; the remains of a New Hampshire infantry regiment supported the retreat; between the two batteries Claymore in his shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, heavy revolver swinging in his blackened fist, was giving a tongue lashing to the stream of fugitives from the river woods.

“Where are you going!  Hey!  Scouting?  Well scout to the front, damn you! . . .  Where are you going, young man?  For ammunition?  Go back to the front or I’ll shoot you!  Get along there you malingerers! or, by God, I’ll have a squadron of Arran’s pig-stickers ride you down and punch your skins full of holes!  Orderly!  Ask Colonel Arran if he can spare me a squad of his lancers for a few minutes——­”

The orderly saluted, coughed up a stream of blood, fell backward off his horse, scrambled to his feet, terror-stricken, both hands pressed convulsively over his stomach!

“Damn them!  They’ve got me.  General!” he gasped—­“they’ve g-got me this time!  There’s a piece of shell inside me as big——­”

He leaned weakly against his mild-eyed horse, nauseated; but it was only a spent ball on his belt plate after all, and a few moments later, swaying and sickly, he forced his horse into a trot across the hill.

A major of Claymore’s staff galloped with orders to the Zouaves; but, as he opened his mouth to speak a shell burst behind him, and he pitched forward on his face, his shattered arm doubling under him.

“Drag me behind that tree.  Colonel Craig!” he said coolly.  “I’ll finish my orders in a moment.”  Major Lent and Colonel Craig got him behind the tree; and the officer’s superb will never faltered.

“Your new position must cover that bridge,” he whispered faintly.  “The left section of McDunn’s battery is already ordered to your support. . . .  How is it with you, Colonel?  Speak louder——­”

Colonel Craig, pallid and worn under the powder smears and sweat, wiped the glistening grime from his eye-glasses.

“We are holding on,” he said.  “It’s all right, Major.  I’ll get word through to the General,” and he signalled to some drummer boys lying quietly in the bushes to bring up a stretcher, just as the left section of McDunn’s battery burst into view on a dead run, swung into action, and began to pour level sheets of flame into the woods, where, already, the high-pitched rebel yell was beginning again.