It was even more persistent than the smoke. It clogged
Dick's throat. It stung and burnt him like powder. Often it filled his
eyes so completely that for a moment or two he could not see the blaze
of the cannon and rifle fire, almost in his face.
But as they fell back he felt again that sensation of actual physical
pain, although he was still untouched. Added to it was an intense mental
anguish. They were failing! They had been driven back! They had
not crushed Jackson! He forgot all about Colonel Winchester, and his
comrades Warner and Pennington. He forgot all about his own danger in
this terrible reversal of his hopes, and he began to shout angrily at
the men to stand. He did not know by and by that no sound came from his
mouth, that words could not come from a throat so choked with dust and
burned gunpowder.
But the charge was made again. The thudding great guns now told all the
Northern divisions where Jackson was. The eighty thousand men of Pope
were crowding forward to attack him, and the batteries were galloping
over the plateau to add to the volume of shot and shell that was poured
upon the Southern ranks.
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