But Dick saw no pause in the advance of the men in
gray. They did not even falter. Without a particle of shelter they came
on through the rain of death, their ranks closing up over the slain,
their front line always presenting that bristling line of steel.
It seemed to Dick now that the points of the bayonets shone almost in
his face, gleaming through the smoke that hung between them and the foe,
a gap that continually grew narrower as the Southern line never ceased to
come.
"Stand firm, lads; steady for God's sake, steady!" shouted Colonel
Winchester, and then Dick heard no single voice, because the roar of the
battle broke over them like the sudden rush of a storm. He was conscious
only that the tips of the bayonets had reached them, and behind them he
saw the eyes in the brown faces gleaming.
Then he did not even see the brown faces, because there was such a storm
of fire and smoke pouring forth bullets like hail, and the tumult of
shouts and of the crash of cannon and rifles was so awful that it blended
into one general sound like the roaring of the infernal regions.
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