The shell and the shrapnel and the
grape and the round shot made a great noise, but the little bullets
coming in swarms like bees were the true messengers of death.
Jackson and four thousand of his veterans formed the thin line between
the Dunkard church and the Antietam. They were ragged and worn by war,
but they were the children of victory, led by a man of genius, and they
felt equal to any task. Near Jackson stood his favorite young aide,
Harry Kenton, and on the other side was the thin regiment of the
Invincibles, led by Colonel Leonidas Talbot, and Lieutenant-Colonel
Hector St. Hilaire.
Around the church itself were the Texans under Hood, stalwart, sunburned
men who could ride like Comanches, some of whom when lads had been
present at San Jacinto, when the Texans struck with such terrible might
and success for liberty.
"Are we winning? Tell me, that we are winning!" shouted Dick in Warner's
ear.
"We're not winning, but we will! Confound that fog! It's coming up
again!" Warner shouted back.
The heavy fog from the Potomac and the Antietam which the early and
burning sunrise had driven away was drifting back, thickened by the smoke
from the cannon and rifles.
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