In a few minutes he was
riding to Longstreet with a message for him to bear steadily toward Hill,
that the gap might be closed entirely, and as soon as possible.
He galloped behind the lines, but bullets fell all around him, and often
a shell tore the earth. The air had become more bitter and poisonous.
Fumes from swamps seemed to mingle with the smoke and odors of burned
gunpowder. His lips and his tongue were scorched. But he kept on,
without exhaustion or mishap, and reached Longstreet, who had divined his
message.
"The line will be solid in a few minutes," he said, and while the battle
was still at its height on the long front he touched hands with Hill.
Then both drove forward with all their might against Hancock, rushing to
the charge, with the Southern fire and recklessness of death that had
proved irresistible on so many fields. The advance, despite the most
desperate efforts of Hancock and his generals, was stopped. Then he was
driven back. All the ground gained at so much cost was lost and the
Southern troops, shouting in exultation, pushed on, pouring in a terrible
rifle fire. Longstreet, in his eagerness, rode a little ahead of his
troops to see the result. Turning back, he was mistaken in the smoke
by his own men for a Northern cavalryman, and they fired upon him, just
as Jackson had been shot down by his own troops in the dusk at
Chancellorsville.
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