Only for that instant did Wing betray his amazement. Then he fully verified the prediction of Hay. Waving his sabre above his head he shouted:
“Come on, boys!” put spurs to his horse and dashed forward, leading the charge.
What man among them would not have followed that “light, inspired form,” to seek glory even “in the cannon’s mouth?”
Like an angel of destruction he rushed onward, followed by all his men.
The enemy, seeing this new movement, turned their guns as quickly as possible upon the charging party.
The first shot in this direction, as on the former occasion, tore its way through the centre of the advancing body, strewing mutilated and dying men and horses in its track, and leaving even those who were unhurt half disabled by their restive horses.
They were now approaching the battery by a very broad road, bordered on each side by high wooded banks.
An instant’s hesitation now on the part of Wing must have been fatal to the success of the expedition. But there was no such hesitation.
“Close on the centre—Forward!” came the deep, sweet, solemn tones of the young leader.
And the men closed in close columns, filling up the gap torn by the cannon ball, and, over the dead and dying, galloped onward.