The artillery of the two
armies watching one another had opened at long range, but the fire was so
distant that it did no harm. Dick and his comrades watched the shells
in their flight, noting the trails of white smoke they left behind, and
then the showers of earth that flew up when they burst. It was rather a
pleasant occupation to watch them. In a way it broke the monotony of a
long summer day.
They did not know that Polk, the bishop-general, was arriving at that
moment in the Southern camp with five thousand men. Bragg had come, too,
but he left the command to Polk, who outranked Hardee, and the three
together listened to the long-range cannonade, while they also examined
with powerful glasses the Union army which was now mostly lying on the
ground.
Dick himself felt a strong temptation to sleep. The march through the
heat that morning had been dusty and tiresome, and the warm wind that
blew over him made his eyelids very heavy. The cannonade itself was
conducive to slumber. The guns were fired at regular intervals, which
created a sort of rhythm.
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