"
The rain ceased to fall, the clouds lifted and the waning moon came out.
Ned Vaughan passing over the outer field saw a long line of men lying
in regular ranks in an odd position. He turned to the Commander.
"Why don't you move that line of battle now to make it conform to your
own?"
"They're all dead men," was the quiet answer. "They are Georgia
soldiers."
John Vaughan, on the other side, crossing an open space, came on a blue
battle line asleep rank on rank, skirmishers in front and battle line
behind, all asleep on their arms. There was no one near to answer a
question. They were all dead.
The blue and grey men were talking to one another now.
"Well, Johnnie," a Yankee called through the shadows, "I can't admit
that you're inspired of God, but after to-day I must say that you are
possessed of the devil."
"Same to you, Yank! Your papers say we're all demoralized anyhow--so
to-morrow you oughtn't have no trouble finishin' us!"
"Ah, shut up now, Johnnie, and go to sleep!"
"All right, good-night, Yank, hope ye'll rest well. We'll give ye hell
at daylight!"
For five days Grant swung his blue lines in circles of blood trying in
vain to break Lee's ranks and gave it up. He had lost at Spottsylvania
eighteen thousand more men. The stolid, silent man of iron nerves was
terribly moved by the frightful losses his gallant army had sustained.
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