s men. The rain of musketry fire against
the trees came to Ned's ears in low undertone like the rattle of myriads
of hail stones on the roof of a house.

A grey soldier was fighting a duel to the death with a magnificently
dressed officer in blue, bare bayonet against bare sword. The soldier,
with a sudden plunge, ran his opponent through. With a shudder, Ned
looked to see if it were John.

A company of men in blue were caught and cut off by a grey wave and
were trying to surrender. Their officers with drawn revolvers refused to
let them.

"Shoot your officers!" a grey man shouted. In a moment every Commander
dropped and the men were marched to the rear.

Hour after hour the flames of hell swirled in an endless whirlwind
around this "Bloody Angle." Battle line after battle line rushed in
never to return. Ned saw an oak tree two feet in diameter gnawed down by
musket balls. It fell with a crash, killing and wounding a number of
men.

Color-bearers waved their flags in each other's faces, clinched and
fought like demons. Two soldiers, their ammunition spent, choked each
other to death on top of the entrenchment and rolled down its banks
among the torn and mangled bodies that filled the ditch.

In the edge of this red whirlwind Ned Vaughan saw a grim man in grey
standing beside a tree using two guns. His wounded comrade loaded one
while he took deliberate aim and fired the other. With each crack of his
musket a man in blue was falling.

In the centre of this mass of struggling maniacs the men were fighting
with gun swabs, handspikes, clubbed muskets, stones and fists.

The night brought no rest, no pause to succor the wounded or bury the
dead. Through the black murk of the darkness they fought on and on until
at last the men who were living sank in their tracks at three o'clock
before day and neither line had given from this "Bloody Angle."

The rain ceased to fall, the clouds lifted and the waning moon came out.

Ned Vaughan passing over the outer field saw a long line of men lying
in regular ranks in an odd position. He turned to the Commander.

"Why don't you move that line of battle now to make it conform to your
own?"

"They're all dead men," was the quiet answer. "They are Georgia
soldiers."

John Vaughan, on the other side, crossing an open space, came on a blue
battle line asleep rank on rank, skirmishers in front and battle line
behind, all asleep on their arms. There was no one near to answer a
q