"A long line--a good half
mile--quite twelve thousand--oh, more--more. Now they are advancing _en
echelon_."
To left, to right, along our lines was heard the thud, thud, of the
ramrods, and percussion-cap boxes were slid around the waist to be handy.
Penhallow and others drew their pistols. The cannon were now fully
replaced, the regimental flags unrolled, and on the front line, long
motionless, the trefoil guidons of the two divisions of the Second Corps
fluttered feebly. The long row of skirmishers firing fell back more and
more rapidly, and came at last into our lines.
Penhallow said, turning to Gibbon, "They have--I think--they have no
supporting batteries--that is strange." Haskell and Gibbon had gone as he
spoke and the low crest was free at this point of all but the artillery
force. To left, the projecting clump of trees and the lines of the Second
Corps--all he could see--were ominously quiet.
Gibbon came back to the crest. He said, "We may need backing if they
concentrate on us; here our line is too thin." And still the orderly grey
columns came on silently, without their usual charging-yell.
"Ah!" exclaimed Penhallow without lowering his glass, as he gazed to our
left. The clamour of cannon broke out from little Round Top.
"Rifles!" exclaimed Gibbon.
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