Ewell with fresh troops were coming up also on his flanks, and now the
blue and the gray, face to face again, closed in mortal combat.

"We've stopped! We've stopped! Do you hear it, we've stopped!"
exclaimed Pennington, his face a ghastly reek of dust and perspiration,
his eyes showing amazement and wonder how the halt could have happened.
Dick shared in the terrible surprise. The fire in front of him deepened
suddenly. Men were struck down all about him. Heavy masses of troops
in gray showed through the smoke. The Stonewall Brigade was charging,
and regiments were charging with it on either side.

The column in blue was struck in front and on either flank. It not only
ceased its victorious advance, but it began to give ground. The men
could not help it, despite their most desperate efforts. It seemed to
Dick that the earth slipped under their feet. A tremendous excitement
seized him at the thought of victory lost just when it seemed won.
He ran up and down the lines, shouting to the men to stand firm. He
saw that the senior officers were doing the same, but there was little
order or method in his own movements. It was the excitement and bitter
humiliation that drove him on.

He stumbled in the smoke against Sergeant Whitley. The sergeant's
forehead had been creased by a bullet, but so much dust and burned
gunpowder had gathered upon it that it was as black as the face of a
black man.

"Are we to lose after all?" exclaimed Dick.

It seemed strange to him, even at that moment, that he should hear his
own voice amid such a roar of cannon and rifles. But it was an undernote,