The world beyond the valley farms was ballasted with smoke, shot through with colorless jabs of light, evasive pinks and reds which faded on the instant of their inception. The trees of the little copse began to pull apart, their leaves ripped loose and spattering wide. Get down, somebody yelled in Bale’s ear, for the lova … dropped to his knees, and the earth jiggled with that ugliness of underground avalanches.

Why don’t we open up? They were all hooting. Get busy, Mister Hunt! came a bawdy cheer. Did he say Hunt? … they laughed, the west was a long bulge of lightning and tropical spume. Must have a hundred guns over there. Two hundred going at once, they estimated. Heavier than Fredericksburg if they keep this up.

Through the mutilation a stampede came from the rear: people scuttled to shelter, gun after gun lurched in from the Taneytown road, lining beside the cannon which had been squatting in that upper field since daylight. The gunners tore the harness apart, bounding like fleas, pushing the thick pieces into position, hauling and leaning against the wheels. They straddled the slanting trails, screwing away at tiny wheels beneath each breech. All Dan could think was: how’ll I get back? Seventy-second. I can’t run toward those guns if they’re shooting. He got to his feet and the air was bumped close beside him. A bushel of stones flew from the wall. One of the card-players stood up and screamed. He beat his chest with open hands, shaking his head and rolling his eyes until the whites puffed out and glistened. Hands pulled him down, but he fought with them. The bent pastures seemed wearing away beneath this incessant crash of bursting iron.

Between two swinging mauls of sound a distant voice called flatly: Load … watch your fuses and … The cannoneers were jerked by wires; you heard the rammer-heads driving in. A short-legged man was standing on the nearest caisson—above him a splinter of white bit into the sky. He bent down and scratched his knee, then straightened again … faintly through the devouring noise: Number One, Fire. The concussion leveled the infantrymen by the wall; fingers of flame singed at them. Number Two, Fire. Dan heard somebody laughing—he was in the grass, and Captain Ballou was crawling across his chest, knees and sword and all … more than … bargained for. Ballou looked down at him with eyes as bright as a squirrel’s. He crawled on around the corner with his sword dragging behind. Number One, Fire. The Milky Way came down and flung itself up again.