Harry remained in the rear on his horse, watching this furious struggle.
The day had become much darker, either from clouds or the vast volume of
smoke, and the thickets were so dense that the officers often could not
see their enemy at all, only their own men who stood close to them.
The struggle was vast, confused, carried on under appalling conditions.
The charging horsemen were sometimes swept from the saddle by bushes and
not by bullets. Infantrymen stepped into a dark ooze left by spring
rains, and pulling themselves out, charged, black to the waist with mud.
Sometimes the field pieces became mired, and men and horses together
dragged them to firmer ground.
Grant here, as before Ewell, continually reinforced his veterans, but
Hill, although he was not able to advance, held fast. The difficult
nature of the ground that Lee had chosen helped him. In marsh and
thickets it was impossible for the more numerous enemy to outflank him.
Harry saw Hill twice, a slender man, who had suffered severe wounds but
one of the greatest fighters in the Southern army. He had been ordered
to hold the center, and Harry knew now that he would do it, for the day
at least. Night was not very far away, and Grant was making no progress.
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