The rifled guns by the cemetery were clanging, and all the way along the upper ridge, when you turned you could see the stubby fingers of metal bounding between their wheels, and sizzling vapor got in the way. Well, Bale said, I’m damned if I stay here and be killed. Seventy-second. I don’t hate these brown men, they ate in my kitchen, they slept in my house—I don’t give a good God damn what Elijah said about them … He swung around and started toward the Taney-town road, his head bent beneath the explosions and the howl running up the fields behind him. He reached the first fence. A voice he’d never heard before cried, “You cowardly bastard!” and something struck him across the shoulders.

He whirled, doubling his fists. A boy with a set, greenish face confronted him. “I’m not a soldier!” Dan cried. The youth shook his head; he couldn’t hear, now that the guns were going without a pause; he dropped his sword and ripped out his revolver in one quick motion. He motioned Dan toward the wall at the front of the field beside the copse.

Well, Bale thought, be killed one way or another. The boy officer found a gun in the weeds, and picked it up and put it in Dan’s hands. It was set at full cock—a Vincennes musket—Lucas Mite had one, during the Indian uprising … The boy came behind, revolver shaking in his hand. The brown mass was at the Emmetsburg road, split by the Codori buildings, and fence rails rolled or waved high as they came over. Dan reached the wall. There’s twice that many on the right, a man said. Lookit. Behind them echoed a livid blat: Ready. By Piece. At Will. Fire. The family of brass guns flamed.

The Confederates began to lie down on the ground. They lay down rapidly, sideways, forward, blotted flat in tumbled crops … whoooooo … wrench of sparks along the whole front of them, and splinters flew from rails atop the stone wall, and the man who had said Lookit stood up and lay down across the rails with his hands dangling. Lettergo at will, boys. The wall uttered a sundering cough.

God, they’re dressing. Lookit that—dressing—crazy as— Anyway, that’s prettiest movement ever saw executed under fire. The ramrods clattered. Gray nations straightened out and swung to the right, arching in toward the slope. The nest of guns gave out their bile, spurt by spurt. Bale said aloud, Something dead, over by Codoris’—must be a calf. Persons found using firearms will be prosecuted utmost vigor. The yell went tussling along the dusty tribes; rapidly they began to have faces. Most of them were lugging their rifles at their sides and working the rods with their right hands as they came. Crust of smoke sped out to meet them.