roads a significant group in the same; the
dead and wounded over all the fields, upon the slope, in the woods, by
the marshes, the jetsam, still and heavy, of war at its worst. For a
moment longer the wide and dreary stretch rested so, then with a wild
suddenness sound and furious motion rushed upon the scene. The gunboats
recommenced with their long and horrible shells. A grey battery opened
on Berdan's sharpshooters strung in a line of trees below the great
crown of guns. The crown flamed toward the battery, scorched and mangled
it. By the cross-roads the three figures separated, going in different
directions. Presently galloping horses--aides, couriers--crossed the
plane of vision. They went from D. H. Hill in the centre to Jackson's
brigades on the left and Magruder's on the right. They had a mile of
open to cross, and the iron crown and the sharpshooters flamed against
them. Some galloped on and gave the orders. Some threw up their arms and
fell, or, crashing to earth with a wounded horse, disentangled
themselves and stumbled on through the iron rain. The sun drew close to
the vast and melancholy forests across the river. Through a rift in the
smoke, there came a long and crimson shaft. It reddened the river, then
struck across the shallows to Malvern Hill, suffused with a bloody tinge
wood and field and the marshes by the creeks, then splintered against
the hilltop and made a hundred guns to gleam. The wind heightened,
lifting the smoke and driving it northward. It bared to the last red
light the wild and dreary battlefield.

From the centre rose the Confederate yell. Rodes's brigade, led by
Gordon, charged. It had half a mile of open to cross, and it was caught
at once in the storm that howled from the crest of Malvern Hill. Every
regiment suffered great loss; the 3d Alabama saw half its number slain
or wounded. The men yelled again, and sprang on in the teeth of the
storm. They reached the slope, almost below the guns. Gordon looked
behind for the supporting troops which Hill had promised. They were
coming, that grim fighter leading them, but they were coming far off,
under clanging difficulties, through a hell of shrapnel. Rodes's brigade
alone could not wrest that triple crown from the hilltop--no, not if the
men had been giants, sons of Anak! They were halted; they lay down, put
muskets to shoulder and fired steadily and fired again on the blue
infantry.

It grew darker on the plain. Brigades were coming fro