Presently these thoughts were distracted by the sight of a back strangely
familiar. The back belonged to a, gentleman who was energetically
climbing the embankment in front of him, on the top of which Major
Sexton, a regular, army officer, sat his horse. The gentleman was pulling
a small boy after him by one hand, and held a newspaper tightly rolled in
the other. Stephen smiled to himself when it came over him that this
gentleman was none other than that Mr. William T. Sherman he had met in
the street car the day before. Somehow Stephen was fascinated by the
decision and energy of Mr. Sherman's slightest movements. He gave Major
Saxton a salute, quick and genial. Then, almost with one motion he
unrolled the newspaper, pointed to a paragraph, and handed it to the
officer. Major Saxton was still reading when a drunken ruffian clambered
up the bank behind them and attempted to pass through the lines. The
column began to move forward. Mr. Sherman slid down the bank with his boy
into the grove beside Stephen. Suddenly there was a struggle. A corporal
pitched the drunkard backwards over the bank, and he rolled at Mr.
Sherman's feet. With a curse, he picked himself up, fumbling in his
pocket. There was a flash, and as the smoke rolled from before his eyes,
Stephen saw a man of a German regiment stagger and fall.

It was the signal for a rattle of shots. Stones and bricks filled the
air, and were heard striking steel and flesh in the ranks. The regiment
quivered,--then halted at the loud command of the officers, and the ranks
faced out with level guns, Stephen reached for Mr. Sherman's boy, but a
gentleman had already thrown him and was covering his body. He contrived
to throw down a woman standing beside him before the mini-balls swished
over their heads, and the leaves and branches began to fall. Between the
popping of the shots sounded the shrieks of wounded women and children,
the groans and curses of men, and the stampeding of hundreds.