WAR
them in the back or front—no matter which. The old Jerry-horse, needing no bridle hand, behaved like a trump. He thought he ought to be in front—and he was. But this Jon, beside me, was still another incarnation of my boy—the thing that war makes of gentle men! His cap was off, and his saber was the busiest in the lot. He piloted us into the very hell of it—leading himself to show us how!
We had them demoralized and on the run. The road was nearly impassable with dead men and horses and equipments. But we could see, off to the right, on another road, the colonel commanding, trying to rally some of his men to a last effort. He had only one arm, like me. But he was a Trojan at making men fight. Well, he succeeded. They came at our flank like a whirlwind. But Jon had been making ready. He faced us right, and we counter-charged, Jon in the lead, like Lucifer himself, outdistancing the Jerry-horse.
But the Johnny was game. He gave us a carbine volley on the run and pushed right
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