They were men of the west and northwest, accustomed all their lives to the use of firearms, and if a Confederate officer in the forest showed himself for a moment it was at the risk of his life.

Captains and lieutenants fell fast beneath the aim of the sharpshooters.
The burning sun was at the zenith, pouring fiery rays upon the vast conflict which raged along a front of two miles.

Pope himself was now upon the field and his troops were pouring from every point to his aid.
So deadly was the fire of the sharpshooters that they regained the wood, driving out the Southerners who had exhausted their cartridges.

Hill's division of the Confederates was almost cut to pieces by the cannon and rifles, and the Southern leaders from their posts on the hills saw brigades and regiments continually coming to the help of the North.
Dick saw or rather felt the fortunes of the North rising again, and as his regiment stood up for action once more he began to shout with the others in triumph.

The roar of the battle grew so steady that the voices of men became audible and articulate beneath it.
"They shut their trap down upon us, but we're breaking that trap all to pieces," he heard Pennington say.
"Looks as if we might win a victory," said the cooler Warner.
Then he heard no more, as they were once again upon the enemy who received them almost hand to hand, and the battle swelled anew.