Suddenly, back on the hill where the little dogs of war were barking, a
command was heard, "Battery, Fire!" and the air was filled with flying
projectiles which went screaming and screeching across the open and
striking the walls of the fort with a mighty impact, that structure was
shaken to its very foundations. Even untouched, one felt shaky and
uncertain on that hillside, and one would have felt his body rending to
pieces as he looked where a shell burst in the midst of a trench, and
heard the filthy squelch and sharp cries above the roar, and saw the
awful faces through the red glare and curtain of smoke, and the mangled
corpses of dead bodies hurled high in the air.
It would make a thrilling scene for some great war drama. The history of
war has had few situations as thrilling as this day's battle.
The artillery "let itself go" again and it was impossible to stand on
that hillside, so fiercely was the breath of the shells blasting across
it in hot, staggering gusts, the tall dry grass bending before it, and
the air filled with flying debris, which followed in the wake of a shell
in little circling whirlwinds. Skimming but a few feet over the heads of
the American fighting line, the shells would burst upon the trenches or
on the ground below them, when attackers were so close to attacked that
the gush of oily smoke hid both, and both the death yell and the yell of
triumph were mingled in one mighty shout and ceaseless roaring.