He was loading and firing his
rifle mechanically, but he always aimed at something in the red storm
before them, although he never knew whether he hit or missed, and was
glad of it.
The division of Sherman had been standing there seven hours, sustaining
with undaunted courage the resolute attacks of the Southern army,
but the sixth sense warning Dick that it had begun to shake at last was
true. The sun had now passed the zenith and was pouring intense and
fiery rays upon the field, sometimes piercing the clouds of smoke,
and revealing the faces of the men, black with sweat and burned
gunpowder.
A cry arose for Grant. Why did not their chief show himself upon the
field! Was so great a battle to be fought with him away? And where
was Buell? He had a second great army. He was to join them that day.
What good would it be for him to come tomorrow? Many of them laughed in
bitter derision. And there was Lew Wallace, too! They had heard that
he was near the field with a strong division. Then why did he not come
upon it and face the enemy? Again they laughed that fierce and bitter
laugh deep down in their throats.
The attack upon Sherman never ceased for an instant. Now he was
assailed not only from the front, but from both flanks, and some even
gaining the rear struck blows upon his division there. One brigade
upon his left was compelled to give way, scattered, and lost its guns.
The right wing was also driven in, and the center yielded slowly,
although retaining its cohesion.
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