There was so much flame and smoke that he could not see well, but the sensation of slipping was distinct.  General Ewell was near him, shouting orders.  His hat had fallen off, and his round, bald head had turned red, either from the rush of blood or the cannon’s glare.  It shone like a red dome, but Harry knew that there was no better man in such a crisis than this veteran lieutenant of Stonewall Jackson.

The Wilderness, usually so silent, was an inferno now.  The battle, despite its tremendous beginning, increased in violence and fury.  Although Grant himself was not there, the spirit that had animated him at Shiloh and Vicksburg was.  He had communicated it to his generals, and Warren brought every ounce of his strength into action.  The long line of his bayonets gleamed through the thickets and the Northern artillery, superb as usual, rained shells upon the Southern army.

Ewell’s men, fighting with all the courage and desperation that they had shown on so many a field, were driven back further and further.  Ewell, strapped in his saddle, flourishing his sword, his round, bald head glowing, rode among them, bidding them to stand, that help would soon come.  They continued to go backward, but those veterans of so many campaigns never lost cohesion nor showed sign of panic.  Their own artillery and rifles replied in full volume.  The heads of the charging columns were blown away, but other men took their places, and Warren’s force came on with undiminished fire and strength.

Harry wondered if the attack at other points had been made with such impetuosity, but there was such a roar and crash about him that it was impossible to hear sounds of battle elsewhere.  Men were falling very fast, but the general was unharmed, and neither the young lieutenant nor his horse was touched.

A sudden shout arose, and it was immediately followed by the piercing rebel yell, swelling wild and fierce above the tumult of the battle.  Help was coming.  Regiments in gray were charging down the paths and on the left flank rose the thunder of hoofs as a formidable body of cavalry under Sherburne, sabers aloft, swept down on the Northern flank.

Ewell’s entire division stopped its retreat and, reinforced by the new men, charged directly upon the Northern bayonets.  Men met almost face to face.  The saplings and bushes were mown down by cannon and rifles and the air was full of bursting shells.  From time to time Ewell’s men uttered their fierce, defiant yell, and with a great bound of the heart Harry saw that they were gaining.  Warren was being driven back.  Two of his cannon were captured already, and the Southern men, feeling the glow of the advance after retreat, charged again and again, reckless of death.  But Harry soon saw that ultimate victory here would rest with the South.  The troops of Warren, exhausted by their early rush, were driven from one position to another by the seasoned veterans who faced them.  The Confederates retained the captured cannon and thrust harder and harder.  It became obvious that Warren must soon fall back to the main Northern line, and though the battle was still raging with great fury Ewell beckoned Harry to him.