It was broiling hot in the swamp; the Zouaves stood bathed in
perspiration as the regiment halted for a few minutes, then they
moved forward again toward a hard ridge of grass which glimmered
green beyond the tangled thicket's edges.
Here the regiment was formed in line of battle, and ordered to lie
down.
Stephen wiped his sweaty hands on his jacket and, lifting his head
from the grass, looked cautiously around. Already there had been
fighting here; a section of a dismantled battery stood in the road
ahead; dead men lay around it; smoke still hung blue in the woods.
The air reeked.
The Zouaves lay in long scarlet rows on the grass; their officers
stood leaning on their naked swords, peering ahead where the
Colonel, Major, and a mounted bugler were intently watching
something--the two officers using field glasses. In a few moments
both officers dismounted, flung their bridles to an orderly, and
came back, walking rather quickly. Major Lent drawing his bright,
heavy sword and tucking up his gold-embroidered sleeves as he came
on.
"Now, boys," said Colonel Craig cheerfully, "we are going in. All
you've got to do can be done quickly and thoroughly with the
bayonet.
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