They came trudging from out the smoke clouds, and across the untilled fields, alone, or in little groups, some armed, more weaponless, here and there a bloody bandage showing, or a limp bespeaking a wound; dirty, unshaven men, in uniforms begrimed and tattered, disorganized, swearing at each other, casting frightened glances backward with no other thought or desire save to escape the pursuing terror behind.

They were the riff-raff of the battle, the skulkers, the cowards, the slightly wounded, making pin pricks an excuse for escape.

Wagons toiled along in the midst of them, the gaunt mules urged on by whip and voice, while occasionally an ambulance forced its way through.

Here and there some worn-out straggler or wounded man had crawled into shade, and lay heedless of the turmoil.

Shouts, oaths, the cracking of whips, the rumble of wheels mingled with the ceaseless roar of musketry, and the more distant reverberation of cannon, while clouds of powder smoke drifted back on the wind to mingle with the dust, giving to all a spectral look.