Kirke, halting his men at the foot of the hill, realized the situation as soon as he saw it. Could they take the hill by a direct front attack in the face of such a body of men, desperate old soldiers, who could shoot as straight and as fast as the remnants of that brigade could? Yet what else was there to do? He could not retire; he had been directed to put that brigade out of action, capture, or destroy it. He could not besiege it and starve it out. It was a problem.
While he was hesitating, Jack Broadhead, who had been left behind at head-quarters for a day, came galloping up with a few troopers as his escort. His quick, soldierly eye took in the desperate situation. After the necessary salutes had been exchanged a little conversation took place.
"That is a strong position, Bob."
"It is that, Jack."
"That fellow is a soldier, every inch of him."
"We knew that before."
"Yes. Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"I hardly know. Think we can take it?"
"Well, I don't know. Looks dubious. But we've got a crowd here that will storm hell itself, if somebody leads, you know."
"I'll lead, but this is worse than hell."