MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
ridden straight for it, and, possibly, escaped without the exchange of a shot, but the spirit of fight was upon us now—we wanted to charge those fellows, ride them down under the horses' hoofs, scatter them to the four winds. As we whirled recklessly about the corner, every man riding low, every eye forward, we saw the enemy at the edge of a grove, some kneeling, others standing. It was merely a glimpse, and then they fired—an instant too quick, perhaps—the irregular cracking showing lack of discipline, the cloud of smoke hiding them again from us. I felt my horse leap as if touched; two or three in our front rank went down, but there was no halting. My mount caught his stride, and I drove in the spur, yelling the charge, hearing the thunder of hoofs behind mingled with an exultant cheer from the men. We drove through the rising smoke cloud like a thunderbolt, and were on them, our revolvers spitting viciously to right and left, our horses pawing at the fleeing figures and at the clubbed muskets with which they sought to fight us back. We went through them as if they had been paper; some ran for the fields, scrambling over a fence, but the main body, still bunched together, firing as rapidly as they could reload, Dodd cuising in the midst of them, made for the shelter of the grape arbor. The fierceness of our rush carried us through the grove out onto the turf of the open lawn, the men struggling with their horses, in an effort to re-form. Out from the front door sprang the four troopers left within, running eagerly for the riderless animals, while the two guards from the negro cabin came spurring madly around the corner of the house, anxious
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