A man on a huge horse made a great sweep at Dick's head with a red saber.
The boy dropped to his knees, and felt the broad blade whistle where his head had been.
The swordsman was borne on by the impetus of his horse, and Dick caught one horrified glimpse of his face.

It was Colonel Kenton, but Dick knew that he did not know, nor did he ever know.

It was never in the lad's heart to tell his uncle how near he had come unwittingly to shearing off the head of his own nephew.
The charge of the cavalrymen carried them clear through the Winchester regiment, but a regiment coming up to the relief drove them back, and the great mass turning aside a little attacked anew and elsewhere.

A few moments of rest were permitted Dick and his comrades, although the mighty battle wheeled and thundered all about them.
But their regiment was a melancholy sight.

A third of its numbers were killed or wounded.