The beat of hundreds of hoofs made a steady sound, insistent and threatening.

The yellow light of the sun, replacing the silver of the first dawn, gilded them with gold, glittering on the upraised blades and tense faces.

The bullets of the Southern sharpshooters, in the bushes and trees along the Opequan, crashed among them, and horses and men went down, but the mighty sweep of the mass was not delayed for an instant.
Dick was flourishing the cavalry saber that he now carried and was shouting with the rest.

Nearer and nearer came the belt of clear water, and the fire of the Southern skirmishers increased in volume and accuracy.

No great Southern force was there, but the men were full of courage and activity.