Forward! QUICK TIME! MARCH!" The mountain sides rang with the answering cheers from a thousand throats.
The noise of the battle on the distant crest was at first in separate bursts of sound, as regiment after regiment came into position and opened fire.

The intervals between these bursts had disappeared, and it had now become a steady roar.
A wild mob came rushing backward from the front.
"My God, our men are whipped!" exclaimed the young Adjutant in tones of Anguish.
"No, no," said Captain Bennett, with cheerful confidence.

"These are only the camp riff-raff, who run whenever so much as a cap is burst near them." So it proved to be.

There were teamsters upon their wheel-mules, cooks, officers' servants, both black and white, and civilian employees, mingled with many men in uniform, skulking from their companies.

Those were mounted who could seize a mule anywhere, and those who could not were endeavoring to keep up on foot with the panic-stricken riders.
All seemed wild with one idea: To get as far as possible from the terrors raging around the mountain top.