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In Virginia

( Originally Published Early 1900's )

Thirty guns of the horse artillery moved into position — not for battle, but for a splendid review. Right and left, emerging from the Virginia forest and the leafy defiles between the hills, came with earth-shaking tread the cavalry, a great force of cavalry, Jeb Stuart's splendid brigades! In the misty, early morning they moved into line, having come up from Brandy Station to a plain north of Culpeper Court-House. It was the eighth of June, something more than a month after Chancellorsville.

Beckham's Horse Artillery, that had been John Pelham's, having got into position, proceeded to take interest in the forming cavalry. There was so magnificently much of cavalry; it was so rested, so recuperated, so victorious, so proud of its past and determined as to its future, so easy, so fine, so glorious, so stamped, in short, with the stamp of Jeb Stuart, that to watch it was like watching a high and gay pageant! The sound of its movement, its jingle and clank, was delightful; delightful the brave lilt of voices, the neighing of impatient horses, delightful the keen bugles! The mist being yet heavy, there was much of mere looming shapes, sounds out of a fogbank. The plain was far spread, the review meant to be a noble one. There was a sense of distant gaiety as of near. The mist hid panoplied war, and far away bugles rang with an elfin triumph.

A certain company of the horse artillery was beautifully placed on a small, clear knoll, above it the fine leaves, the drooping, sweet bloom of a solitary locust. The guns were ranged in order, the horses in harness, cropping the wet grass where they stood. But it was early yet and the battery men had not received the order, To your pieces I They were clustered in groups, watching the gathering cavalry. Lean and easy and powerful, bronzed and young, they cheerfully commented upon life in general and the scene below.

"Jeb is n't here yet! He bivouacked last night at Beverly Ford. Orderly, riding by, heard the banjo."

"Is this review his notion or Marse Robert's ? "

"I reckon I can answer that. I was at headquarters. Jeb came out of that lovely little cabin he 's got with a letter in his hand which he read to Heros von Borcke —"

"Yes?"

"And he said in it that he did n't believe there ever had been in this sinful world a finer cavalry force, and would n't the greatest general on earth come over with some of his friends and review the greatest body of horse -"

"Sounds like him."

"And he gave the letter to Heros von Borcke, who went off with it. And then I was at headquarters again --"

"You sound like the Old Testament! Well, you were at head-quarters again — ? "

"And Heros von Borcke brought an order from Marse Robert — Jeb and all of us to come over and be reviewed on the plain north of Culpeper. Marse Robert said he 'd be there with `some of his friends' —"

"Longstreet, I reckon. A. P. Hill's still at Fredericksburg." "And they say Ewell's going toward the Valley -"

To right and left there sprang a rustling. The sun strengthened, the mist began to lift, a number of bugles blared together. Into the very atmosphere sifted something like golden laughter. A shout arose — Jeb Stuart ! Jeb Stuart ! Jeb Stuart !

Out of the misty forest, borne high, a vivid square in the sea of pearl, came a large battle-flag. Crimson and blue and thirteen-starred, forth it paced, held high by the mounted standard bearer. The horse artillery saluted as it went by, going on to a sentinelled strip of greensward where stood three ancient and weather-beaten tents. Here it was planted, and here in the June wind it streamed outward so that every star might be seen. The mist yet held on the farther side of the plain, but all the nearer edge was growing light and sunny. The bugles rang. Jeb Stuart I Jeb Stuart ! shouted the plain above Culpeper.

Stuart, followed by his staff, trotted from the forest. He wore his fighting jacket and his hat with the plume, he was magnificently mounted, he stroked his wonderful, sunny beard, and he laughed with his wonderful, sunny, blue eyes. He had more verve than any leader in that army; he was brave as Ney; the army adored him! The victory of Chancellorsville was his victory no less than it was that of Stonewall Jackson and of Robert Lee. All knew it, and the victory was but five short weeks ago. The glory of the great fight hung about him like a golden haze, a haze that magnified, and yet that, perhaps, did not magnify overmuch, for he was a noble cavalry leader. Suddenly, " Old Joe Hooker, won't you come out of the Wilderness ? " chanted the hosts about him.

He lifted his hat. The horse, that had about his arching neck a great wreath of syringa and roses, pranced on to the colours and stopped. Staff drew up, bugles blew, there came a sound of drum and fife, mist began rapidly to lift. "Oh," breathed Horse Artillery, getting into place, "most things have a compensatory side!"

From the misty middle of the plain came with tramp and jingle another mounted party. One rode ahead on a grey horse. Noble of form and noble of face, simple and courteous, he came up to the great flag and grandeur came with him. General Lee ! General Lee ! shouted Cavalry, shouted Horse Artillery.

Stuart, who had dismounted, came forward, saluting.

"Ah, General," said Lee. "I am going to review you with much pleasure, and I have taken you at your word and brought with me some of my friends."

Stuart beamed upon Longstreet, commander of the First Corps, and upon several division generals.

"Oh, I have brought more than these!" said Lee. "Look how the sun is drinking up the mist!"

As he spoke the sun finished the draught. The rolling plain north of Culpeper lay bare. All the dewy, green middle waited for the cavalry evolutions, for the march past, but the farther side, up and down and over against Jeb Stuart's flag, was already occupied and not by cavalry. Troops and troops and troops, like a grey wall pointed with banners! — Horse Artillery, from its place of vantage, stared, then softly crowed. "Great day in the morning! Marse Robert has brought the whole First Corps!"

Now here, now there, on the plain, went in brilliant manoeuvres the cavalry. The horse artillery came into line, manoeuvred and thundered as brilliantly. The massed infantry cheered, the reviewing general stood with a grave light in his eyes. Jeb Stuart shifted his place like a sunbeam. Oh, the blowing bugles; oh, the red and blue flag outstreaming; oh, the sunlight and the clear martial sounds and the high, high hopes on the plain north of Culpeper! June was in the heart of most; doubly, doubly was it the Confederacy's June, this month! Great victories in Virginia lay behind it: in the Far South there had been disasters, but Vicksburg — Vicksburg was heroically standing the siege. And in front lay, perhaps, the crossing of the Potomac and the carrying the war into Africa! June, June, June! it sang in the blood of the grey. Long and horrible had been the war, and many were the lost, and tears had drenched the land, but now it was summer and victory would come before the autumn. The North was tired of spilling blood and treasure; there sounded a clamour for peace. One or two other great vic tories, and peace would descend and the great Confederacy would stand! The march past raised its eyes to the crimson banner with the thirteen stars, and June was in every soldier's heart.

The march past was a thing to have seen and to remember. By the starry banner, by Robert Edward Lee, went the cavalry brigades of his son, "Roony" Lee, of his nephew, Fitzhugh Lee, of Beverly Robertson, of W. E. Jones, of Wade Hampton. They lifted their sabres, the sun made a dazzle of steel. June, June, June! sang the bugles, sang the birds in the woods back of the warm-hearted, the admiring infantry. Past went the horse artillery, the thirty guns, the proud battery horses, the easy and bronzed cannoneers, the grave young officers. General Lee ! General Lee ! shouted Cavalry, shouted Artillery ! The dust rose from the plain, all grew a shimmering blur.

It was over, the great cavalry review. The day descended; the troops drew off toward hidden bivouacs. Lee and Longstreet and Stuart rode together awhile, under the sunset sky. Staff, behind them, understood that great things were being spoken of — marches toward Maryland, perhaps, or a watch on Joe Hooker, or the, of late, vastly increased efficiency of the enemy's cavalry. Staff had its own opinion as to this. "They always could fight, and now they've. learned to ride! Pity!"

"I don't call it a pity. I'd rather meet them equal. Pleasanton 's all right."

"We've had a beautiful review and we've also made a lot of noise, to say nothing of a dust cloud like the Seven Days come back. Double pickets to-night, I should say. We are n't a million miles from Hooker."

"That's true enough. — Halt! General Lee's going back."

Under a great flush of sunset coral and gold above the trees, Lee and his cavalry leader parted. The one smiled, the other laughed, they touched gauntleted hands, and Lee turned grey Traveller. Longstreet joined him and they rode away, staff falling in behind, out of the June-time forest, back to the encampment at Culpeper. A moment and their figures were drowned in the violet evening. Jeb Stuart, singing, plunged with his staff into the woods. His head-quarters were at Brandy Station.

The starry night found this village filled with troops. They bivouacked, moreover, all about it, on Fleetwood Hill and toward St. James Church. There were outposts, too, toward the Rappahannock; a considerable troop tethered its horses on the bank above Beverly Ford. Others went toward Providence Church and Norman's Ford, others toward Kelly's. Eight thousand horse bivouacked beneath the stars. Camp-fire saw camp-fire, and the rustling night wind and the murmuring streams heard other voices than their own,, heard voices full of cheer.

The horse artillery prepared to spend the night in a grassy field beside the Beverly Ford road. In front was a piece of thick woods. The battery horses, tethered in a long line, began to crop the grass. The guns, each known and loved like an old familiar, were parked. The men gathered dry wood for their supper fires, fried their bacon, baked their corn-meal pones, brewed their "coffee" — chiccory, rye, or sweet potato, as the case might be. There was much low laughter and crooning, and presently clouds of tobacco smoke. Beautiful review — beautiful day — rest to-night — march to-morrow — Jeb lovely as ever — going to end this blessed war —• pile on the pine knots so we can read the letters from hornet.

Toward midnight, on the farther edge of the wood, a post of the horse artillery relieved its pickets. The sound of the retiring steps died away and the fresh sentinels took cognizance of their positions.

The positions were some distance apart, between them wood and uneven ground and the murmurous night. Each picket was a lonely man, with the knowledge only that if he raised his voice to a shout he would be heard.

The moon shone brightly. It silvered the Beverly Ford road and made a frosted wall of the forest left and right, and bathed with the mildest light the open and undulating country. Somewhere a whippoor-will was calling. Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!

Beside the road sprang a giant sycamore. From beneath it Philip Deaderick, once Richard Cleave, standing picket, watched the night. He stood straight and still, powerfully knit, his short rifle in the hollow of his arm. He stood grave and quiet, a wronged but not unhappy man. The inner life, the only life, had marched on. A gulf had opened and certain hopes and happinesses had fallen therein, but his life was larger than those hopes and happinesses. The inner man had marched on. He had marched even with a quickened step in this last month. "What did it matter?" reasoned Cleave. "Those whom I love know, and I am not cut off from service, no, nor from growth!" Around, above, below the sharpened point of the moment he was aware enough of the larger man. The point might ache at times, but he knew also impersonal freedom. . . . Things might be righted some day or they might not be righted. He could wait. He looked from the shadow of the sycamore out upon the lovely, moonlit land. Tragedy, death, and sorrow through all the world, interpretations at grips, broken purposes, misunderstandings, humanity groping, groping! He ached for it all — for the woman sleepless on her pillow, for the prisoner in prison. The spirit widened; he stood calm under all, quiet, with suspended judgment. Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! He looked up and studied the stars between the silver branches of the sycamore, then dropped his gaze and leaned slightly forward, for he heard the tread of horses on the road.

Two horsemen, one in front, the other a little way behind, came quietly up the silver streak.

"Halt!" said Deaderick.

The two drew rein. "All right!" said the one in advance. "A friend. Colonel of Cary's Legion, with an orderly."

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign.

Ivry.

"Correct, Ivry. Pass!"

The officer, with a motion of his hand to the orderly to stay where he was, came closer to the picket. "Before I do so," he said, and his tone was a strange one, "tell me your name."

"Philip Deaderick."

"You are trying to disguise your voice. . . . Richard !"

"Don't, Fauquier! I am Philip Deaderick, gunner in 's battery, horse artillery."

"How long ?"

"Since Groveton. Don't betray me."

"Who knows ? Does Judith know ?"

"Yes. She and my mother."

The other covered his eyes with his hand, then spoke, much moved. "Richard, if ever this war gives us time we might reopen matters. We surely have influence enough —"

"I know, Fauquier. But there is no time now to be given nor stress to be laid on private matters. Somehow they have sunk away.. . Perhaps a day will come, and perhaps it will not come. . . . In the mean time dismissal from the army has not worked. I am back in the army."

"And are not unhappy ? You do not sound unhappy."

"No. I am not unhappy. Only now and then. . . . Be careful, will you ? If I were known I should be unhappy soon enough ! "

"You may trust me." He leaned from the saddle and put his hand on the other's shoulder. "Richard, you're a true man. I've always honoured you, and I honour you more than ever! Truth will out! You be sure of that."

"I am at times reasonably sure of it, Fauquier. And if it does not appear, I am reasonably sure that I can endure the darkness. I told you that I was not unhappy." He laid an affectionate touch on the other's hand. "I was sorry enough to hear about the arm, Fauquier."

"Oh," said Cary, "I have learned to use the left. I had rather it was the arm than the leg, like dear old Ewell! . . . Richard, meeting you like this moves me more than I can well let show. I've got so much of my mother in me that I'd like to kiss you, my dear —" He bent as he spoke and touched with his lips the other's broad, uplifted brow, which done, with a great handclasp they parted. Cary, turning, called to the orderly who came up. The two rode on toward Brandy Station, and Deaderick resumed his watch.

Another time passed. The moon rode high, the forest rustled, the road lay a silver streak. Dead rick, still and straight beneath the sycamore, presently turned his head and regarded the line of woods upon his left. He had caught a sound — but it was some distance away. It had been faint, but it was like a horse being pushed cautiously through undergrowth. Now there was no more of it. He stood listening, with narrowed eyes. The bushes a hundred feet away parted and a man and horse emerged. They stopped a moment and the man rose in his stirrups and looked about him. Then, with a satisfied nod, he settled to the saddle again and the two came through the thin growth down to the road.

"Halt!" said Deaderick, cocking his rifle.

The horseman came on. "Halt! or I fire."

The horse was stopped. "Don't waste your bullets on me!" said the rider coolly. "Save them for the Yankees."

"Dismount before you advance."

"I have the countersign. I am Lieutenant Francis, bearing an enquiry from General Lee."

"Dismount before you advance."

The officer dismounted. He was a tall man, wrapped, though the night was warm, in a grey horseman's cloak. "You are tremendously careful to-night! I suppose my horse may follow me ? He does n't stand well."

"Fasten him to the sapling beside you. — Advance and give the countersign."

The tall man came up, revealing, beneath a grey hat pulled low, a tanned countenance with long mustaches. "Ivry. I'll tell General Stuart that you are about the most cautious picket he's got. I remember having to convince just such another when I was in Texas in '43 —"

"Did you convince him ?"

"I did. The word is Ivry. Allow me to pass."

"Be so good first as to open your cloak. It is too warm to wear it so."

"My man, you are on your way to the guardhouse. Messengers from General Lee are not accustomed - What is that ?"

"Nothing. I was humming a line of an old carol. Do you remember the road to Frederick?"

Dead silence, then a movement of Marchmont's hand beneath the cloak. Cleave divined, and was upon him. Not so tall, but more powerfully built and a master wrestler, the tug of war was a short one. The pistol, wrenched from the Englishman's grasp, fell to the ground and was kicked away. The two struggling figures swung round until Marchmont was nearer the sycamore, Cleave between him and the horse. Another fierce instant and the Englishman was thrown — the picket's rifle covered him.

"I regret it," said Cleave, "but it can't be helped. I wish that some other had been sent in your place." He raised his voice to a shout. "Picket two! A prisoner. Send guard!" There came back a faint "All right! Hold on!"

Marchmont sat up and picked the leaves from his clothing. "Well, I have thought of you more than once, and wished that we might meet again! Not precisely under such auspices as these, but under others. I was obliged to you, I remember, that day at Front Royal."

"It was a personal matter then, in which I might indulge my own inclination. To-night I regret that it is not a personal matter."

"Exactly. Well, I bear you no grudge. `Fortune of war!' At Front Royal you were a colonel leading a charge — may I ask why I find you playing sentry ?"

"That is a long story," said Cleave. "I am sorry that I should be your captor, and it is entirely within your right to deny the request I am going to make. I am Philip Deaderick, a private soldier. I ask you to forget that I ever had another name."

"All right, Philip Deaderick, private soldier!" said Marchmont. "Whatever may be your reasons, I won't blab. I liked you very well on the road to Frederick, and very well that day at Front Royal. — To-night was just a cursed fanfaronade. Knew you must all be hereabouts. Crossed over to see what I could see, got the word and this damned cloak and hat from a spy, and ambled at once into the arms of a man who could recognize me! Absurd! And here comes the guard."

Guard came up. "What is it, Deaderick ? Deserter ? Spy ? "

" It's not a deserter," said Deaderick. "It's somebody in a blue uniform beneath a grey cloak. I don't think he's an accredited spy — probably just an officer straying around and by chance hearing the word and acting on the spur of the moment. You'd better take him to the captain back on the road."

Another hour passed and he was relieved. Back with the outpost he lay down upon the summer earth and tried to sleep. But the two encounters of the night had set the past to ringing. He could not still the reverberations. Greenwood! Greenwood! — the place and one within it — and one within it — and one within it! .. . And then Marchmont, and the hopes and ambitions that once Richard Cleave had known. "A colonel leading a charge" — and the highest service in sight — and a man's knowledge of his own ability.... Philip Deaderick turned and lay with his face to the earth, his arm across his eyes. He fought it out, the thousandth inner battle, then turned again and lay, looking sideways along the misty night.

In the distance a cock crew. The chill air, the unearthly quiet told the hour before dawn. The east grew pale, then into it crept faint streaks of purple. The birds in the woodland began incessantly to cheep! cheep! The mist was very heavy. It hid the road, swathed all the horizon. Reveille sounded: the bugler, mounted on a hill behind the guns, looked, in the moody light, like some Brocken spectre. Far and wide, full at hand, thin and elfin in the distance, rang other reveilles. They rang through the streets of Brandy Station and through the surrounding forests, fields, and dales, waking Jeb Stuart's thousands from their sleep.

Horse Artillery stood up, rubbed its eyes, and made a speedy toilet. In the shortest possible time the men were cooking break-fast. Cooking breakfast being at no time in the Army of Northern Virginia a prolonged operation, they were to be found in an equally short space of time seated about mess-fires eating it. It was yet dank and chilly dawn, the east reddening but not so very red, the mist hanging heavy, closing all perspectives. Horse Artillery lifted its tin cup, filled with steaming mock-coffee, to its lips — Crack I crack 1 came the rifle shots from the Beverly Ford woods. Horse Artillery set down its cup. "What's that ? What are all those pickets firing that way for ? Good Lord, if there's going to be a surprise, why couldn't they wait until after breakfast ? Gel the horses and limber up ! — All right, Captain —"

Vedettes, driven in, came galloping tip the road. "Blue cavalry! No end of blue cavalry! Column crossing, and a whole lot of them up in the woods! Nobody could see them, the mist was so heavy! You slow old Artillery, you'd better look out!"

Beckham came up. "Captain Hart, draw a piece by hand down into the road! Get hitched up there, double-quick! Into position on the knoll yonder! — Oh, here comes support!"

The Sixth Virginia Cavalry had been on picket; the Seventh Virginia Cavalry doing grand guard. Alert and in the saddle, they had seen and heard. Now from toward Brandy Station up they raced, like a friendly whirlwind, to the point of danger. A cheer from the artillery welcomed them, and they shouted in return. Flournoy and the Sixth dashed down the Beverly Ford road and deployed in the woods to the right. Marshall and the Seventh followed and deployed to the left. Artillery limbered up and took to the high ground near St. James Church. Up galloped Eleventh and Twelfth Virginia and fell into line behind the guns.

Jeb Stuart, in the saddle on Fleetwood Hill, his blue eyes upon the Beverly Ford situation, found a breathless aide beside him.

"General! General! They're crossing below at Kelly's Ford! Two divisions— artillery and infantry behind! They've got us front and rear!"

Stuart's eyes danced. He stroked his beard. "All right! All right! I'll send Robertson and Hampton — Here 's W. H. F. Lee — Cary, too! This is going to be the dandiest fight!"

A brigadier galloped up. " General, shall we detach regiments to guard all approaches ?

"Too many approaches, General! We'll keep concentrated and deliver the blow where the blow is due! Will you listen to that delightful fuss ? — Dabney, you go tell General Hampton to place a dismounted battalion by Carrico Mills."

The clang and firing in the Beverly Ford woods grew furious the Sixth and Seventh fighting with the Eighth New York and the Eighth Illinois. On pushed the Federal horse, many and bold, Buford's Regulars, trained, efficient. The forward surge, the backward giving, brought all upon the edge of the wood. There was charge and countercharge, carbine firing, sabring, shouts, scream of horses, shock and fire, hand-to-hand fighting. Back and upward roared the surge, up and over the hill where were the guns, the guns that were trained, but could not be fired, so inextricably was friend intertwined with foe. The shouting blue laid hold of the guns; the cannoneers fought hand-to-hand, with pistol muzzle and pistol butt, dragging at the horses' reins, striking men from the saddle, covering the guns, wrenching off the blue clutch. Then came like a jubilant whirlwind the supporting grey, Hampton and Lee.

"Isn't it beautiful ?" asked Jeb Stuart on Fleetwood Hill. "Oh, ho! They're coming thick from Kelly's Ford!"

"General Robertson reports, sir, that there's artillery and infantry on his front. The cavalry, in great strength, is sweeping to the right —"

"Fine! They're all coming to Fleetwood Hill. Go, tell Major Beckham to send any guns that he can spare."

Beckham sent two of McGregor's. Artillery was in straits of its own. Charges from the Beverly Ford woods might be repelled, but now arose the dust and thunder of the advance from Kelly's. Impossible to stay before St. James Church and become grain between the upper and nether millstones! Artillery fell back, first to Pettis's Hill, then to Fleetwood, and fell back with three pieces disabled. Before they could get into position, Buford's regiments charged again. There followed a mκlιe. The cannoneers, too, must deal with that charge. They had pistols which they used, they had sponge staff and odd bits of iron. As soon as it was humanly possible, they got a gun into service — then two. The shells broke and scattered the shouting blue lines.

Through Brandy Station charged regiment after regiment, — blue, magnificent, shouting, — Gregg and Duffie's divisions up from Kelly's Ford. A dismounted squadron of Robertson's broke before them; they fell upon a supporting battery and took the guns. On they roared, through Brandy Station, out to Fleetwood Hill. Jeb Stuart swung his hat. "Now, Cavalry of the Army of Northern Virginia! Now, Cavalry of the Army of Northern Virginia!"

There followed a great cavalry fight. Squadron dashed against squadron. All was gleaming and dust and shouting, carbine smoke and wheeled lightning of sabres. June stood a-tiptoe; the earth seemed to rock; a hundred brilliant colours went in sparkles before the eyes, the ears rang. There was a mad excitement in which, whether time plunged forward like a cataract, or stood still like an arrested hearkener to the last trump, none in that abandonment could have told. It was a gay fight, shrieking with excitement, the horses mad as the riders, the air shaking like castanets. The squadrons crashed together, the sabres swung, the pistols cracked! Down went men and horses, biting the dust, gaiety going out like a blown candle. Without, air and sunshine and wild animal exultation; within, pain, smothering, and darkness, darkness. The guns were taken, the guns were retaken; the grey gave back, the blue gave back. The battle lines wheeled and charged, wheeled and charged. There was shock and fire and a mad mκlιe — a staccato fight, with cymbal and quick drum. And ever in front tossed the feather of Stuart.

To and fro, through the hot June weather, the battle swung. Though no one could tell the time, time passed. The blue gave back — slowly. Slowly the grey pressed them eastward. A train shrieked into Brandy Station, and grey infantry came tumbling out. Loud blew Pleasanton's bugles. "Leave the fight a drawn fight, and come away!"

With deliberation the blue, yet in battle front, moved eastward to the fords of the Rappahannock. After them pressed the grey. An aide, dust from head to foot, rode neck by neck with Stuart. "General! we are being hard put to it on the left — Buford's Regulars! General Lee has a wound. We've got a battery, but the ammunition's out —" The feather of Stuart turned again to the Beverly Ford road.

W. H. F. Lee's troops, re-forming, charged again, desperately, brilliantly. Munford, commanding Fitzhugh Lee's brigade, had been up the river at Wellford's Ford. Now, bringing with him Breathed's battery, he fell upon the blue flank. Buford gave way; the grey came on with a yell. Down through the Beverly woods, past the spot where, at dawn, there had been outpost fighting, down to the ford again, rolled the blue. The feather of Stuart went by in pursuit.

Philip Deaderick, resting after a hard fight, leaning against a yet smoking gun, watched with his fellows the retreat of the tide that had threatened to overwhelm. The tide was finding outlet by all the fords of the Rappahannock. It was streaming back from all the region about Brandy Station. It went in spirits, retiring, but hardly what one might call defeated. It had been, in sooth, all but a drawn battle — a brilliant cavalry battle, to be likened, on an enormous scale, to some flashing joust of the Middle Ages.

Deaderick, watching, leaned forward with a sound almost of satisfaction. Below him passed two men, riding double, blue gallopers toward Beverly Ford. The one behind, without cloak or hat, saw him, waved his arm and shouted, "Au revoir, Lieutenant McNeil!"

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