During the whole of this time, the rebels were pouring forth a deadly fire upon the little band, and many of our gallant guard had bit the dust, while the wounded were to be seen on every side.
But, riding into the open field, the guard were formed into line at the base of the hill, near the small stream which is the head of Wilson's creek. On the right of the guard, and about one hundred yards distant, just at the edge of a large corn-field, were stationed four hundred of the rebel cavalry. At the brow of the hill, directly in front, and near the edge of the wood, was the line of rebel infantry, numbering eighteen hundred, all their available force having been brought to that point.
The eyes of Zagonyi glanced rapidly over this scene. Some thirty of his bold guard had already been stricken down, either killed or wounded. It was enough to appal the stoutest heart. But the major did not flinch—his followers were firm and confident.
"We can spare thirty men to charge their cavalry," said Zagonyi; "lieutenant, will you lead them?"
The officer addressed replied.
"Give me the men—thirty is sufficient!"
The men were soon detailed, merely changing front by breaking from the right of the line.
"Forward—trot—gallop!" The lieutenant had placed himself at the head of his little band, and with drawn sabres, and a wild shout, they rushed upon the foe. The rebel ranks were broken in an instant; the blows from the terrible weapons of the guard fell not in vain.
"No further help will be required in that quarter," shouted Zagonyi. "Now comes our work. Draw sabres—forward—gallop—charge!"