, sulphurous smoke, through which the steady assailants move more like churchyard ghouls or gnomes than human beings, braving the terrors of our modern Mars.
A half hour later, and the quick, sharp volleys, further to the right, announce that Johnson is on the move.
He, too, with banners flying, and covered by the plunging shell and canister, is fighting his way across the valley with the object of assaulting the enemy's works.
As the line left the slope on the perilous charge, Captain Irvine McDowell, of the Fifteenth Kentucky, than whom, for bravery and exemplary qualities of heart, no man in the division was more highly esteemed, dropped from the line a bloody corpse.
Here, too, in this charge, memorable ever as connected with that bloody assault of Judah and Turchin, fell Captain Fotrel and Lieutenant Higby, the latter of the Thirty-third Ohio.
Johnson, unable to scale the hill, retires, and the enemy, pouring over his works, form in line to charge him. Facing about the t