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370
The Red Mist

long. Load again—load! and stand ready. Wyatt!"

"Here, sir."

"Any work for you there?"

"No; only a half dozen Yanks in sight from this end."

"Bring all but two men, and come here! Wharton, O'Hare, stand ready to take a hand. Ah! there the blue-bellies come, lads—now give them the lead! fire! damn you—fire!"

The little squad of us leaped down the aisle, and Wharton's and O'Hare's men clambered over the benches, cursing and yelling. Already the smoke of the carbines filled the church, and we could see little except in the flash of the gun-fire. The swirl of bodies hurled me to the right, away from where Harwood stood, and brought me in front of the opposite door. Through this opening, and the narrow window beyond, I got a glimpse outside—at a black mass of men sweeping straight toward us, their guns gleaming viciously, their voices echoing in savage shout. It was a mere glimpse, an infernal vision, and, almost at the same instant, they came crashing against the shattered door, beating it down with their gun-stocks, and leaping through into the maze of overturned benches littering the vestibule. The door fell in splinters, the frenzied assailants plunging