At eight A. M., the boys having risen an hour earlier than usual, Col. R. Dale Benson entered the ring and rode around it three times at break-neck speed, amid the tremendous plaudits of a tremendous crowd. In one hand he carried the stars and stripes; in the other, his unsheathed sword. His horse’s bridle he held between his teeth. With a final “HOUP LA,” he vanished behind the screen. General Wagner, who commanded the opposing party, then rode in, bowed to the audience, and placed a chip of wood on his left shoulder. Benson returned, minus the flag, and boldly knocked the chip off. This was the signal for the fray. Drums were beat, trumpets sounded; the crowd applauded, children shrieked, women fainted, and amid all the din,-- “Forth from the canvas tent, Marched the First Regiment,” while from the opposite side of the field, the Second Regiment and the Jersey Blues approached, preceded by the West Point Drum Corps. Around from the left wing, cautiously moving forward, came the Keystone Battery, each swarthy gunner with a camelia in his button-hole, while the City Troop, bouncing upon their martial steeds, came gaily from the right. Suddenly their captain, Rogers, rushed to the centre of the arena. He waved his sword on high. “Forward, the _Light_ Brigade--Charge for the guns,” he said; and, quick as thought, the swarthy gunners were flying like chaff before the wind. And now broke out the dread roll of musketry, and the air was obscured by the terrible smoke of war. The First Regiment fired four volleys in quick succession, to make the smoke thick, and then fell flat to the ground. Meantime, the Jersey Blues dashed forward with fixed bayonets to recapture the battery and return it to the swarthy gunners, who were now distributed around various parts of the Park. The nervous excitement among the lookers-on became almost too great to bear. Don Carlos of Spain, who was on the grand stand, pulled off his coat and was only restrained from jumping into the ring through the exertions of General Grant, whose own pulse was beating high. The smoke cleared away, and then leapt into the _mêlée_ the star of the entertainment, General Philip Sheridan, standing erect upon his bare-backed steed. Shout upon shout greeted his appearance, and it was fully five minutes before the audience would allow the battle to proceed. [WHOOP!] The City Troop stood immovable before the gleaming bayonets of their assailants; the First and Second Regiments popped away at each other with blank cartridges, and General Sheridan, alone in the centre of the field, uttered the wild blood-curdling whoop which he had learned from the savages, and which stands him in such good service in his married life. Few women could brave a whoop like that. [Illustration] Such was the position of the field, and victory seemed doubtful upon which banner to perch. “Surrender!” shouted the Captain of the Jersey Blues. “Never!” thundered Rogers of the Troop.