f the brigade to which Colonel Aubrey belonged were
sent forward to the same point as a reserve.

Like incarnations of victory, Beauregard and Johnston swept to the front
where the conflict was most deadly; everywhere, at sight of them, our thin
ranks dashed forward, and were mowed down by the fire of Rickett's and
Griffin's batteries, which crowned the position they were so eager to
regain. At half-past two o'clock the awful contest was at its height; the
rattle of musketry, the ceaseless whistle of rifle balls, the deafening
boom of artillery, the hurtling hail of shot, the explosion of shell, dense
volumes of smoke shrouding the combatants, and clouds of dust boiling up on
all sides, lent unutterable horror to a scene which, to cold, dispassionate
observers, might have seemed sublime. As the vastly superior numbers of the
Federals forced our stubborn bands to give back slowly, an order came from
General Beauregard for the right of his line, except the reserves, to
advance, and recover the long and desperately disputed plateau. With a
shout, the shattered lines sprang upon the foe and forced them temporarily
back. Major Huntingdon's horse was shot under him; he disengaged himself
and marched on foot, waving his sword and uttering words of encouragement.
He had proceeded but a few yards when a grape-shot entered his side,
tearing its way through his body, and he fell where the dead lay thickest.
For a time the enemy retired, but heavy reinforcements pressed in, and they
returned, reoccupying the old ground. Not a moment was to be lost; General
Beauregard ordered forward his reserves for a second effort, and with
magnificent effect, led the charge in person. Then Russell Aubrey first
came actively upon the field. At the word of command he dashed forward with
his splendid regiment, and, high above all, towered his powerful form, with
the long black plume of his hat drifting upon the wind as he led his
admiring men.

As he pressed on, with thin nostril dilated, and eyes that burned like
those of a tiger seizing his prey, he saw, just in his path, leaning on his
elbow, covered with blood, and smeared with dust, the crushed, withering
form of his bitterest enemy. His horse's hoofs were almost upon him; he
reined him back an instant, and glared down at his old foe. It was only for
an instant, and as Major Huntingdon looked on the stalwart figure and at
the advancing regiment, life-long hatred and jealousy were
forgotten--pat