At length a ball hit him in the thigh. He paid no heed.
Still his tall soldierly figure dominated the battle, still his
ringing voice cheered on his men. Then suddenly the voice grew faint,
the tall figure bent, and a deathly whiteness overspread his cheeks.
"General, are you wounded?" asked one of his officers, anxiously.
"Yes," he answered, faintly, "and I fear badly."
They were his last words. Gently he was lifted from his horse and
laid on the ground, and in a few minutes he died.
When the sun went down the Confederates claimed the victory. But
if victory it was it was too dearly bought with the death of their
commander-in-chief. Nor did the Federals own themselves beaten.
They were dumbfounded and bleeding, but not shattered. They felt
that the struggle was not over, and still facing each other the
weary armies lay down to rest on the field, under the lashing rain,
each side well aware that with the morrow would come the decisive
contest.
All through the night the guns from the river boomed and crashed,
and rain fell in torrents, adding to the discomforts of the wearied
men, making sleep almost impossible.
When day dawned rain still fell in a cold and dismal drizzle. The
Federals, however, rose cheerfully, for the inspiriting news that
twenty-five thousand fresh troops had arrived ran through the lines.
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