"Bill wasn't scared either. No, sir! It wasn't that. Bill ain't
a-gittin' scared easy. He was jest mad, that's what he was.
When that feller trod on his hand, he up an' sed that he was
willin' t' give his hand t' his country, but he be dumbed if he
was goin' t' have every dumb bushwhacker in th' kentry walkin'
'round on it. So he went t' th' hospital disregardless of th' fight.
Three fingers was crunched. Th' dern doctor wanted t' amputate 'm,
an' Bill, he raised a heluva row, I hear. He's a funny feller."

The din in front swelled to a tremendous chorus. The youth and
his fellows were frozen to silence. They could see a flag that
tossed in the smoke angrily. Near it were the blurred and
agitated forms of troops. There came a turbulent stream of men
across the fields. A battery changing position at a frantic
gallop scattered the stragglers right and left.

A shell screaming like a storm banshee went over the huddled heads
of the reserves. It landed in the grove, and exploding redly
flung the brown earth. There was a little shower of pine needles.

Bullets began to whistle among the branches and nip at the trees.
Twigs and leaves came sailing down. It was as if a thousand axes,
wee and invisible, were being wielded. Many of the men were
constantly dodging and ducking their heads.

The lieutenant of the youth's company was shot in the hand.
He began to swear so wondrously that a nervous laugh went along the
regimental line. The officer's profanity sounded conventional.
It relieved the tightened senses of the new men. It was as if he
had hit his fingers with a tack hammer at home.