Harry had no doubt
that Shepard was there. He would surely come to the point where his
enemy was nearest, and his eyes and ears would be the keenest of all.
The little skirmish continued for a few minutes, extending along a
winding line of nearly a mile through the thickets. Only two or three
were wounded and nobody killed on the Southern side. Harry understood
thoroughly, as Ewell had said, that the sharpshooters of the enemy were
merely feeling for them. They wanted to know if a strong force was there,
and now they knew.
The firing ceased, not in dying shots, but abruptly. The Wilderness in
front of them returned to silence, broken only by the rippling leaves.
Harry knew that the Northern sharpshooters had discovered all they wanted,
and were now returning to their leaders.
Ewell turned his horse and rode back toward the main camp, his staff
following. The cooking fires had been put out, the lines were formed
and every gun was in position. As little noise as possible was allowed,
while they waited for Grant; not for Grant himself, but for one of his
lieutenants, pushed forward by his master hand.
Harry and most of the staff officers dismounted, holding their horses by
the bridle. The young lieutenant often searched the thickets with his
glasses, but he saw nothing.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333