And now from Emory down to the smallest drummer-boy every man saw that the hour had come to show what the First division was made of. The leading regiments and flankers instantly fixed bayonets; the staff-officers drew their swords; hardly a man fell out, but at a steady and even quickened pace, Emory's men forced their way through the confused mass in the eager endeavor to reach a position where the enemy might be held in check. This, in that country, was not an easy task, and it was not until the last rush of the flying crowd and the dropping of stray bullets here and there told that the pursuing enemy was close at hand, that Emory found room to deploy on ground affording the least advantage for the task before him. He was now less than three miles from the field where Lee had been beaten back and Ransom had been overwhelmed. The scene was a small clearing with a fenced farm, traversed by a narrow by-road and by a little creek flowing toward the St. Patrice. Here the Confederates could be plainly seen coming on at such a pace that for some moments it was even doubtful whether Emory might not have delayed just too long the formation of his line of battle. Such was his own though as in the dire need of the crisis he determined to sacrifice his leading regiment in order to gain time and room for the division to form. Happily the Confederates helped him by stopping to loot the train and the rejoice loudly over each discovery of some special luxury to them long unfamiliar.