“Forward, the Light Brigade—Charge for the guns,” he said; and, quick as thought, the swarthy gunners were flying like chaff before the wind.
And now broke out the dread roll of musketry, and the air was obscured by the terrible smoke of war. The First Regiment fired four volleys in quick succession, to make the smoke thick, and then fell flat to the ground. Meantime, the Jersey Blues dashed forward with fixed bayonets to recapture the battery and return it to the swarthy gunners, who were now distributed around various parts of the Park. The nervous excitement among the lookers-on became almost too great to bear. Don Carlos of Spain, who was on the grand stand, pulled off his coat and was only restrained from jumping into the ring through the exertions of General Grant, whose own pulse was beating high.
The smoke cleared away, and then leapt into the mêlée the star of the entertainment, General Philip Sheridan, standing erect upon his bare-backed steed. Shout upon shout greeted his appearance, and it was fully five minutes before the audience would allow the battle to proceed.
The City Troop stood immovable before the gleaming bayonets of their assailants; the First and Second Regiments popped away at each other with blank cartridges, and General Sheridan, alone in the centre of the field, uttered the wild blood-curdling WHOOP!whoop which he had learned from the savages, and which stands him in such good service in his married life. Few women could brave a whoop like that.
Such was the position of the field, and victory seemed doubtful upon which banner to perch.
“Surrender!” shouted the Captain of the Jersey Blues.
“Never!” thundered Rogers of the Troop.
“Whoop! whoop!” came thrillingly from the lungs of Sheridan.
“Advance in solid square and flank them on both ends,” commanded Benson of the doughty First.