At once there was movement,--quick orders,
officers busy, as fresh cannon replaced the wrecked pieces. Many of
the unhurt cannoneers lay down utterly exhausted. The dead were drawn
aside, while the wounded crawled away or were cared for by the
stretcher-bearers and surgeons. Meanwhile the dense, hot, smoke-pall
rose slowly and drifted away. The field-glasses were at once in use.
"It is half-past two," said General Hunt; "what next? Oh! our skirmishers
are falling back."
"They are going to attack," said Haskell, "and can they mean our whole
line--or where?"
The cannoneers were called to their pieces, and silently expectant the
little group waited on the fateful hour, while the orderly quiet of
discipline was to be seen on the Crest. The field-glasses of the officers
were searching with intense interest the more and more visible vale.
"Pretty plain now, Gibbon," said Hunt.
"Yes, we are in for it."
"They are forming," said Penhallow. A line appeared from the low swell of
ground in front of Lee's position--then a second and a third. Muskets and
bayonets flashed in the sun.
"Can you make out their flags?" asked Gibbon, "or their numbers?"
"Not the flags." He waited intent, watchful. No one spoke--minute after
minute went by. At last Penhallow answered.
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