Curses ring out amid a
low sound of hard breathing; the ranks are gapped here and there as a
man wriggles away like a wounded rabbit, or another bounds upward with a
frantic ejaculation. Then comes the fighting at close quarters. Perhaps
kind women who are misled by the newspaper-writer's brisk babblement
may like to know what that means, so I give the words of the best
eyewitness that ever gazed on warfare. He took down his notes by the
light of burning wood, and he had no time to think of grammar. All his
words were written like mere convulsive cries, but their main effect is
too vivid to be altered. Notice that he rarely concludes a sentence, for
he wanted to save time, and the bullets were cutting up the ground and
the trees all round him. "Patches of the wood take fire, and several of
the wounded, unable to move, are consumed. Quite large spaces are swept
over, burning the dead also; some of the men have their hair and beards
singed, some burns on their faces and hands, others holes burnt in their
clothing. The flashes of fire from the cannon, the quick glaring flames
and smoke, and the immense roar--the musketry so general; the light
nearly bright enough for each side to see the other; the crashing,
tramping of men--the yelling--close quarters--hand-to-hand conflicts.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64