The
spectacle was to Henry and his comrades panoramic in its effect.
They watched the flashes of fire from the mouths of the cannon,
the flight of the great shells, and the bank of smoke which soon
began to lower like a cloud over the field. They could picture
to themselves what was going on beyond the earthwork, the dead
falling, the wounded limping away, earth and trees torn by shell
and shot. They even fancied that they could hear the voices of
the great chiefs, Thayendanegea and Timmendiquas, encouraging
their men, and striving to keep them in line against a fire not
as deadly as rifle bullets at close quarters, but more
terrifying.
Presently a cloud of skirmishers issued once more from the Indian
camp, creeping among the trees and bushes, and seeking a chance
to shoot down the men at the guns. But sharp eyes were watching
them.
"Come, boys," exclaimed Henry. "Here's work for us now."
He led the scouts and the best of the riflemen against the
skirmishers, who were soon driven in again. The artillery fire
had never ceased for a moment, the shells and balls passing over
their heads. Their work done, the sharpshooters fell back again,
the gunners worked faster for a while, and then at a command they
ceased suddenly.
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