Harry felt it yielding, as if the ground were sliding under his
feet.
There was so much flame and smoke that he could not see well, but the
sensation of slipping was distinct. General Ewell was near him, shouting
orders. His hat had fallen off, and his round, bald head had turned red,
either from the rush of blood or the cannon's glare. It shone like a red
dome, but Harry knew that there was no better man in such a crisis than
this veteran lieutenant of Stonewall Jackson.
The Wilderness, usually so silent, was an inferno now. The battle,
despite its tremendous beginning, increased in violence and fury.
Although Grant himself was not there, the spirit that had animated him
at Shiloh and Vicksburg was. He had communicated it to his generals,
and Warren brought every ounce of his strength into action. The long
line of his bayonets gleamed through the thickets and the Northern
artillery, superb as usual, rained shells upon the Southern army.
Ewell's men, fighting with all the courage and desperation that they had
shown on so many a field, were driven back further and further. Ewell,
strapped in his saddle, flourishing his sword, his round, bald head
glowing, rode among them, bidding them to stand, that help would soon
come.
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