But the Southern troops, the rebel yell still rolling through the
woods, came on at full speed and struck the Union front.
It seemed to Dick that he was conscious of an actual physical shock.
Tanned faces and gleaming eyes were almost against his own. He looked
into the muzzles of rifles, and he saw the morning sun flashing along
the edges of bayonets. But the regiment, although torn by bullets,
did not give ground. The charge shivered against them, and the Southern
troops fell back. Yet it was only for a moment. They came again to
be driven back as before, and then once more they charged, while their
resolute foe swung forward to meet them rank to rank.
Dick was not conscious of much except that he shouted continuously to
the men to stand firm, and wondered now and then why he had not been
hit. The Union men and their enemy were reeling back and forth, neither
winning, neither losing, while the thunder of battle along a long and
curving front beat heavily on the drums of every ear. The smoke,
low down, was scattered by the cannon and rifles, but above it gathered
in a great cloud that seemed to be shot with fire.
The two colonels, Winchester and Newcomb, were able and valiant men.
Despite their swelling losses they always filled up the ranks and held
fast to the ground upon which they had stood when they were attacked.
But for the present they had no knowledge how the battle was going
elsewhere. The enemy just before them allowed no idle moments.
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