seemed weakest he thrust in a veteran regiment, and he went quickly back
and forth, observing with a measuring eye every shift and change of the
battle.

The Winchester regiment in its new position was still among the gullies
and bushes, and they were thankful for such shelter. Although veterans
now, most were lads, and they did not scorn to take cover whenever they
could. For a little while they did not reply to the enemy's fire,
but lay waiting and seeking to get back the breath which seemed to
be driven from their bodies by the very violence of the concussion.
Shrapnel, grape and canister whistled incessantly over their heads,
and on either flank the thunder of the battle swelled rapidly.

The Southern attack was spreading along the whole front, and it was made
with unexampled vigor. It even excelled the fiery rush at Stone River,
and the generals on both sides were largely the same that had fought the
earlier great battle. Polk, the bishop-general, still led one wing for
the South, Buckner massed Kentuckians who faced Kentuckians on the other
side, and Longstreet and Hill were to play their great part for the
South. Resolved to win a victory, the veteran generals spared nothing,
and the little Chickamauga, so singularly named by the Indians "the river
of death," was running red.

Dick crouched lower as the storm of shells swept over him. Despite all
his experience impulse made him bow his head while the whistling death
passed by. He felt a little shame that he, an officer, should seek
protection, but when he stole a look he saw that all the others, Colonel
Winchester included, were doing the same. Sergeant Whitley had sunk down
the lowest of them all, and, catching Dick's glance, he said in clear,
low tones audible under the storm: