enemy in overpowering numbers on both his flanks and even in his rear.
Apparently everything was lost. Taciturn, he never described his
feelings then, but in his soul he must have admired the magnificent
courage with which his troops stood around him, and repelled the
desperate assaults of a foe resolved to win. Although his face
grew grimmer and his teeth set hard, he, too, must have watched the
approaching cloud of dust with the most terrible anxiety. If it bore
enemies in its bosom, then in very truth everything would be lost.

Down a road some miles from the battlefield a force of eight thousand men
had been left as a reserve for one of the armies. They had long heard
the terrific cannonade which was sending shattering echoes through the
mountains, and both their chief and his second in command were eager to
rush to the titanic combat. They could not obtain orders from their
commander, but, at last, they marched swiftly to the field, all the eight
thousand on fire with zeal to do their part.

It was the eight thousand who were making the great cloud of dust, and,
as they came nearer and nearer, the suspense of Thomas' shattered
brigades grew more terrible. Dick, reckless of shell and bullets,
tried to pierce the cloud with his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a flag
and uttered a wild shout of joy. It was the stars and stripes. The
eight thousand were eight thousand of the North! He danced up and down
on the stump, and shouted at the top of his voice:

"They're our own men! Help is here! Help is here!"

A vast shout of relief rose from Thomas' army as the eight thousand still
coming swiftly joined them. Granger was their leader, but Steedman,
his lieutenant, galloped at once to Thomas, who still stood in the clump