And by his side—oh, sight of fear and horror!—by his side, in the fiercest of the fight, rode his devoted wife! Why she was there—why he permitted her to be there—no one could tell. Whether he had no wish or no power to withstand the force and fire of her will that clung to him so desperately for life or death, or whether they had been surprised too suddenly to be separated, is not known. All that is certainly known is that she was with him throughout that bloody day. She seemed to ride scathless through that scene of slaughter, unharming and unharmed! Who, indeed, would have willingly hurt her?
At the moment that Goldsborough with his band rode up, the Free Sword and his two hundred faithful followers were fighting desperately against an overwhelming force.
Goldsborough brought to his relief nearly two hundred more men. Yet still the united forces of the two leaders numbered less than four hundred ill-armed and ill-disciplined guerrillas; and these were opposed to the whole regiment, of Rosenthal’s well-trained veteran cavalry, armed with their death-dealing Henry rifles—those sixteen shooters, that augmented their fighting powers more than ten-fold.
The guerrillas fought well, fearlessly, recklessly.
But who could doubt the issue?
Again and again the voice of the young Federal commander was heard above the din of battle, calling upon those brave, misguided men to surrender and save themselves.
In vain! He might as well have roared to the roaring winds!
The battle raged with increasing fury. The waves of war rolled east, rolled west, as the hard-pressed guerrillas fell back, or rallying for a space, pushed forward.
At length, towards sunset, the guerrillas began to scatter and fly.
Colonel Goldsborough tried to rally them, but in vain. Their desperate courage had suddenly failed. Goldsborough looked around for the cause of this panic; and he discovered it in the absence of their idolized leader!