SEARCH
0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Prev | Current Page 374 | Next

Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"

The sound rushed over us, rattling in the timber like a fall of
rocks. Something went quivering in me. It seemed as if my vitals
had gone into a big lump of jelly that trembled every step I took.
We quickened our pace; we fretted, we complained. The weariness
went out of our legs; some wanted to run. Before and behind us
men were shouting hotly, 'Run, boys! run!' The cannon roar was
now continuous. We could feel the quake of it. When we came
over a low ridge, in the open, we could see the smoke of battle in
the valley. Flashes of fire and hoods of smoke leaped out of the far
thickets, left of us, as cannon roared. Going at double quick we
began loosening blankets and haversacks, tossing them into heaps
along the line of march, without halting. In half an hour we stood
waiting in battalions, the left flank of the enemy in front. We were
to charge at a run. Half-way across the valley we were to break
into companies and, advancing, spread into platoons and squads,
and at last into line of skirmishers, lying down for cover between
rushes.


Pages:
362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386