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Page 17
The din in front swelled to a tremendous chorus. The youth and
his fellows were frozen to silence. They could see a flag that
tossed in the smoke angrily. Near it were the blurred and
agitated forms of troops. There came a turbulent stream of men
across the fields. A battery changing position at a frantic
gallop scattered the stragglers right and left.
A shell screaming like a storm banshee went over the huddled heads
of the reserves. It landed in the grove, and exploding redly
flung the brown earth. There was a little shower of pine needles.
Bullets began to whistle among the branches and nip at the trees.
Twigs and leaves came sailing down. It was as if a thousand axes,
wee and invisible, were being wielded. Many of the men were
constantly dodging and ducking their heads.
The lieutenant of the youth's company was shot in the hand.
He began to swear so wondrously that a nervous laugh went along the
regimental line. The officer's profanity sounded conventional.
It relieved the tightened senses of the new men. It was as if he
had hit his fingers with a tack hammer at home.
He held the wounded member carefully away from his side so that
the blood would not drip upon his trousers.
The captain of the company, tucking his sword under his arm,
produced a handkerchief and began to bind with it the
lieutenant's wound. And they disputed as to how the
binding should be done.
The battle flag in the distance jerked about madly. It seemed to
be struggling to free itself from an agony. The billowing smoke
was filled with horizontal flashes.
Men rushing swiftly emerged from it. They grew in numbers until
it was seen that the whole command was fleeing. The flag suddenly
sank down as if dying. Its motion as it fell was a gesture of despair.
Wild yells came from behind the walls of smoke. A sketch in gray
and red dissolved into a moblike body of men who galloped like
wild horses. The veteran regiments on the right and left of the
304th immediately began to jeer. With the passionate song of
the bullets and the banshee shrieks of shells were mingled loud
catcalls and bits of facetious advice concerning places of safety.
But the new regiment was breathless with horror. "Gawd!
Saunders's got crushed!" whispered the man at the youth's elbow.
They shrank back and crouched as if compelled to await a flood.
The youth shot a swift glance along the blue ranks of the regiment.
The profiles were motionless, carven; and afterward he remembered
that the color sergeant was standing with his legs apart,
as if he expected to be pushed to the ground.
The following throng went whirling around the flank. Here and there
were officers carried along on the stream like exasperated chips.
They were striking about them with their swords and with their
left fists, punching every head they could reach. They cursed
like highwaymen.
A mounted officer displayed the furious anger of a spoiled child.
He raged with his head, his arms, and his legs.
Another, the commander of the brigade, was galloping about bawling.
His hat was gone and his clothes were awry. He resembled a man
who has come from bed to go to a fire. The hoofs of his horse
often threatened the heads of the running men, but they scampered
with singular fortune. In this rush they were apparently all
deaf and blind. They heeded not the largest and longest of the
oaths that were thrown at them from all directions.
Frequently over this tumult could be heard the grim jokes of the
critical veterans; but the retreating men apparently were not
even conscious of the presence of an audience.
The battle reflection that shone for an instant in the faces on
the mad current made the youth feel that forceful hands from
heaven would not have been able to have held him in place if
he could have got intelligent control of his legs.
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