He saluted her with his sabre and smiled as he
passed, but her sympathies were with the major, now taken at such
disadvantage. At this period the troops on both sides were veterans,
and neither fought nor ran away without good reason. Major Brockton
knew as well what to do as had Scoville before him, and retreated at
a gallop with his men toward the southwest, whence his supports were
advancing. The Union attack, however, had been something of a
surprise and a number of the Confederates were cut off.
The scene and event had been one to set every nerve tingling. But a
few yards away the Union force had rushed by like a living torrent,
the ground trembling under the iron tread of the horses. Far more
impressive had been the near vision of the fierce, bronzed faces of
the troopers, their eyes gleaming like their sabres, with the
excitement of battle. Scoville won her admiration unstintedly, even
though she deprecated his purpose. His bearing was so fearless, so
jaunty even in its power, that he seemed as brave as any knight in
the old-fashioned romances she had read, yet so real and genial that
it was hard to believe he was facing death that sunny morning or
bent upon inflicting it.
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