He was all eagerness again, leaning forward with an air of earnest listening, his face deeply flushed and his eye brilliant. Of a sudden the combat above rose and swelled into higher violence. There was a clamor far away—it seemed nearly a mile away—over the hill. Then the nearer musketry—first Thomas’s on the shoulder of the ridge, next Gildersleeve’s in front—caught fire and raged with new fury.
Waldron laughed outright. “Gahogan has reached them,” he said to one of his staff who had just rejoined him. “We shall all be up there in five minutes. Tell Colburn to bring on his regiment slowly.”
Then, turning to Fitz Hugh, he added, “Captain, we will ride forward.”
They set off at a walk, now watching the smoking brow of the eminence, now picking their way among dead and wounded. Suddenly there was a shout above them and a sudden diminution of the firing; and looking upward they saw the men of the Fourteenth running confusedly toward the summit. Without a word the brigade commander struck spurs into his horse and dashed up the long slope at a run, closely followed by his enemy and aid. What they saw when they overtook the straggling, running, panting, screaming pell-mell of the Fourteenth was victory!
The entire right wing of the Confederates, attacked on three sides at once, placed at enormous disadvantage, completely outgeneraled, had given way in confusion, was retreating, breaking, and flying. There were lines yet of dirty gray or butternut; but they were few, meagre, fluctuating, and recoiling, and there were scattered and scurrying men in hundreds. Three veteran and gallant regiments had gone all to wreck under the shock of three similar regiments far more intelligently directed. A strong position had been lost because the heroes who held it could not perform the impossible feat of forming successively two fresh fronts under a concentric fire of musketry. The inferior brain power had confessed the superiority of the stronger one.
On the victorious side there was wild, clamorous, fierce exultation. The hurrying, shouting, firing soldiers, who noted their commander riding among them, swung their rifles or their tattered hats at him, and screamed “Hurrah!” No one thought of the Confederate dead underfoot, nor of the Union dead who dotted the slope behind. “What are you here for, Colonel?” shouted rough old Gildersleeve, one leg of his trousers dripping blood. “We can do it alone.”
“It is a battle won,” laughed Fitz Hugh, almost worshiping the man whom he had come to slay.
“It is a battle won, but not used,” answered Waldron. “We haven’t a gun yet, nor a flag. Where is the cavalry? Why isn’t Stilton here? He must have got afoul of the enemy’s horse, and been obliged to beat it off. Can anybody hear anything of Stilton?”
“Let him go,” roared Old Crumps. “The infantry don’t want any help.”