Above the roar of the battle the rebel yell continually swelled afresh.

The setting sun, no longer golden but red, cast a sinister light over the trampled wheat field, the slopes and the woods torn by cannon balls.

The dead and the wounded lay in thousands, and Banks, brave and tenacious, but with bitter despair in his heart, was seeking to drag the remains of his army from that merciless vise which continued to close down harder and harder.
Dick's excitement and tension seemed to abate.

He had been keyed to so high a pitch that his pulses grew gentler through very lack of force, and with the relaxation came a clearer view.

He saw the sinking red sun through the banks of smoke, and in fancy he already felt the cool darkness upon his face after the hot and terrible August day.