A group in gray, still cleaving through the multitude, reappeared far up the slope, and then burst, a little band of a few dozen men, into the very heart of the Union center, the point to which they had been sent.
A battle raged for a few minutes under the clump of trees where Hancock had stood directing.

There Armistead, who had led them, his hat on the point of his sword, fell dead among the Northern guns, and Cushing, his brave foe who commanded the battery, died beside him.

All the others fell quickly or were taken.

A few hundreds on the slopes cut their way back through the Union army and reached their own.

Pickett, preserved by some miracle, was among them.
Harry gasped and threw down his glasses.