Perhaps
this theory may better than another explain the tremendous endurance of
men in battle. But the eyes reported only matter for despair.
Before us ran the turbulent river, vexed with plunging shells and obscured
in spots by blue sheets of low-lying smoke. The two little steamers were
doing their duty well. They came over to us empty and went back crowded,
sitting very low in the water, apparently on the point of capsizing. The
farther edge of the water could not be seen; the boats came out of the
obscurity, took on their passengers and vanished in the darkness. But on
the heights above, the battle was burning brightly enough; a thousand
lights kindled and expired in every second of time. There were broad
flushings in the sky, against which the branches of the trees showed
black. Sudden flames burst out here and there, singly and in dozens.
Fleeting streaks of fire crossed over to us by way of welcome. These
expired in blinding flashes and fierce little rolls of smoke, attended
with the peculiar metallic ring of bursting shells, and followed by the
musical humming of the fragments as they struck into the ground on every
side, making us wince, but doing little harm. The air was full of noises.
To the right and the left the musketry rattled smartly and petulantly;
directly in front it sighed and growled. To the experienced ear this meant
that the death-line was an arc of which the river was the chord. There
were deep, shaking explosions and smart shocks; the whisper of stray
bullets and the hurtle of conical shells; the rush of round shot.
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