MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
I was outside on the porch, my eyes by this time somewhat accustomed to the darkness. The sergeant and O'Brien were facing me, while a number of the troopers had left their horses to he held by comrades, and were grouped together on the lower steps, the rays of the hall light illuminating their faces. I could perceive the sweep of the ash-covered driveway, the thick fringe of bushes beyond. Suddenly they turned to flame before my eyes; there was a roar, a blaze of light, a rearing of horses, the stamping of hoofs, a wild shriek, frightened voices yelling, strangely distorted forms outlined in the glare. I saw the group on the steps fall apart as if cleaved by a tongue of flame; O'Brien leaped back into the shadow, and the sergeant fell like a stone, striking me as he went down and driving me back against the frame of the door. An instant I was dazed, stupefied. Then I heard the mad yell of the Confederacy, and knew the truth. We were attacked, ambushed, routed; our only hope the getting under cover.
"To the house, men, the house!" I shouted, my voice louder than the tumult. "Leave your horses, and make for the house!"
They came with the rush of terror, leaping, stumbling up the steps, and struggling into the hall. How many came, how many remained behind, I could not tell; two fell on the porch, and one, still living but helpless blocked the doorway. There was a crash of shots, a smudge of figures below; O'Brien grasped the fellow and flung him within, and I slammed the door, sliding the heavy bolt into its socket.
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