The dusk was thick, heavy, it was noisome, it had a quality that was almost ponderable, it was unpleasant to eye and nostril, he tasted and breathed the smoke that was shot through it, and he felt a sickening of the soul.

He heard a wind moaning through the forest, and it was to him a dirge, the lament of those who had fallen.
He knew there had been no lack of bravery on the part of his own.
After a while he took some consolation in that fact.

British and Americans had come to the attack long after hope of success was gone.
They had not known how to win, but never had men known better how to die.

Such valor would march to triumph in the end.
He lay awake almost the whole night, and he did not expect Abercrombie to advance again.

Somehow he had the feeling that the play, so far as this particular drama was concerned, was played out.