These, at least, are safe.
With this blow, comes the news of the Seventeenth Corps being thrown
back, far out of its place, by the wild rush of Hood's braves. All
goes wrong. The day is lost.
Will it be a Bull Run?
No! The impetuous Logan tears along his lines. "Black Jack's"
swarthy face brings wild cheers from the men, who throw themselves
madly on the attacking lines, seeking vengeance. The Fifteenth
Corps' rifles are sounding shotted requiem salvos for their lost
leader. The Seventeenth holds on and connects. The Sixteenth Corps,
struck heavily in flank by the victorious Confederates, faces into
line of battle to the left. It grimly holds on, and pours in its
leaden hail. Smith's left flank doubled back, joining Leggett,
completes the reformed line. From high noon till the darkness of
the awful night, a general conflict rages along the whole front.
War in its grim horror.
Sherman, casting a wistful glance on the body of McPherson, stands
alert. He is as bristling as a wild boar at bay. Sherman at his
best.
Is this their worst? No, for at four in the afternoon, a terrific
sally from Atlanta throws the very flower of the assailants on the
bloody knoll, evermore to be known as "Leggett's Hill.
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