5. “‘Halt!’ and ‘Right into line!’—There on the ridge In battle-order we let the horses breathe; The Colonel raised his glass and scanned the bridge, The tents on the bank beyond, the stream beneath. Just then the sun first broke from the redder east, And their pickets saw five hundred of us, at least, Stretched like a dark stockade against the sky; We heard their long-roll clamor loud and nigh: In half a minute a rumbling battery whirled To a mound in front, unlimbering with a will, And a twelve-pound solid shot came right along, Singing a devilish morning-song, And touched my comrade’s leg, and the poor boy curled And dropt to the turf, holding his bridle still. Well, we moved out of range,—were wheeling round, I think, for the Colonel had taken his look at their ground, (Thus he was ordered, it seems, and nothing more: Hardly worth coming at midnight for!) When, over the bridge, a troop of the enemy’s horse Dashed out upon our course, Giving us hope of a tussle to warm our blood. Then we cheered, to a man, that our early call Hadn’t been sounded for nothing, after all; And halting, to wait their movements, the column stood. 6. “Then into squadrons we saw their ranks enlarge, And slow and steady they moved to the charge, Shaking the ground as they came in carbine-range. ‘Front into line! March! Halt! Front!’ Our Colonel cried; and in squadrons, to meet the brunt, We too from the walk to the trot our paces change: ‘Gallop, march!’—and, hot for the fray, Pistols and sabres drawn, we canter away. 7. “Twenty rods over the slippery clover We galloped as gayly as lady and lover; Held the reins lightly, our good weapons tightly, Five solid squadrons all shining and sightly; Not too fast, half the strength of our brave steeds to wasten, Not too slow, for the warmth of their fire made us hasten, As it came with a rattle and opened the battle, Tumbling from saddles ten fellows of mettle. So the distance grew shorter, their sabres shone broader; Then the bugle’s wild blare and the Colonel’s loud order,—