The great conflict increased in violence. Buell, a man of iron courage,
saw that his soldiers must fight to the uttermost, not for victory only,
but even to ward off defeat. The dawn was now far advanced. The rain
had ceased, and the sun again shot down sheaves of fiery rays upon a
vast low cloud of fire and smoke in which thousands of men met in
desperate combat.
Nine o'clock came. It had been expected by Grant that Buell long before
that time would have swept everything before him. But for three hours
Buell had been fighting to keep himself from being swept away. The
Southern troops seemed animated by that extraordinary battle fever and
absolute contempt of death which distinguished them so often during this
war. Buell's army was driven in on both flanks, and only the center
held fast. It began to seem possible that the South, despite her
reduced ranks might yet defeat both Northern armies. Another battery
dashed up to the relief of the men in blue. It was charged at once by
the men in gray so fiercely that the gunners were glad to escape with
their guns, and once more the wild rebel yell of triumph swelled through
the southern forest.
Dick, standing with his comrades on one of the ridges that they had
defended so well, listened to the roar of conflict on the wing, ever
increasing in volume, and watched the vast clouds of smoke gathering
over the forest. He could see from where he stood the flash of rifle
fire and the blaze of cannon, and both eye and ear told him that the
battle was not moving back upon the South.
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