The storm weakened and slowly died away. Only the
intermittent crack of a rifle here and there broke the stillness.
There was no shout of victory, no sweep of cheering hosts--only silence.
The Confederate General in command for the day had lost faith in his
battle plan and withdrew his army from the field. The men in blue could
move in and camp on the ground they had held the day before if they
wished.
But there was something more important to do now than maneuver for
position in history. The dead and the dying and wounded crying for water
were everywhere--down every sunlit aisle of the forest they lay in
heaps. In the open fields they lay faces up, the scorching Southern sun
of June beating piteously down in their eyes--the blue and the grey side
by side in death as they fought hand to hand in life.
The trenches were opened and they piled the bodies in one on top of the
other, where they had fallen. They turned their faces downward, these
stalwart, brave American boys that the grave-diggers might not throw the
wet dirt into their eyes and mouths. O, aching hearts in far-away homes,
at least you were not there to see!
Both armies paused now to gird their loins for the crucial test. General
Lee was in the saddle gathering every available man into his ranks for
his opening assault on McClellan's host.
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