The fleet moved closer and another shell screamed through the sky and
again fell short. They moved again, found the range, and for four hours
the earth trembled beneath the steady roar of their forty-six guns.
At eleven o'clock Dick saw the long lines of men in blue deploy for an
assault on the entrenchments. They moved with quick sure step, these men
under Grant. He was sorry for them. They were marching to certain death.
On the blue waves rolled, pouring volley after volley into the heaps of
earth behind which the Southerners lay.
They were close enough now and the quick command rang along the
trenches.
"Fire!"
A storm of death swept the ranks in the open fields. They stood their
ground stubbornly, those dogged western fighters. Dazed and cut to
pieces, they rallied and pressed forward again only to be mowed down in
heaps.
They gave it up at last and sullenly withdrew, leaving the dead piled
high and the wounded slowly freezing to death where they lay.
The artillery kept the earth quivering with the steady roar of their
guns and the Federal sharpshooters harassed the trenches without a
moment's respite. It was impossible to move for food or water until
nightfall.
At dawn next day Dick once more gripped his gun and peered over the
embankment.
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