Smith relieved French in the afternoon.
The roads are narrow carriage-ways leading to the farm-houses.
The Rebels occupying Muma's house and barn annoy Sumner's artillerymen, who in turn aim their guns at the buildings. A shell bursts in the barn and sets it on fire. A black cloud rises. The flames burst forth. The Rebels, finding the place too hot for them, apply the torch to the house, and retreat to Rulet's orchard. The dark pillar of cloud, the bright flames beneath, the constant flashing of the artillery, and the hillsides alive with thousands of troops, their banners waving, their bayonets gleaming, is a scene of terrible grandeur.
Weber's brigade advances steadily, throwing down the fences, scaling the stone-walls, preserving a regular line. Not so with Morris's, which is thrown into confusion. The time has come to strike a great blow.
"Tell General Kimball to move to the front, and come in on the left of Weber," was French's order to General Kimball.
The brigade swings towards the south, past Morris's brigade, enters the ravine, and pushes on towards Rulet's.
It is a magnificent movement. Richardson at the moment is crowning the hill south of the brook, while Tidball's battery is throwing shells up the ravine into the orchard beyond Rulet's.
The hills are covered with troops. Far up the hillside in Rulet's, Muma's, and Dr. Piper's cornfields are Longstreet's and D. H. Hill's troops. On the hills south of Sharpsburg is A. P. Hill, just arriving from Harper's Ferry. The Rebel infantry is behind the stone walls and rail fences. All of the hills are smoking with artillery. Jackson's batteries by the church are still thundering at Howard, who, now that Sedgwick has been carried from the field, commands that division of Sumner's corps. Burnside's batteries by the bridge are all in operation.
Mr. Rulet and Mr. Muma live about half a mile from the Hagerstown pike. A narrow path leads along the hillside to the pike. Just beyond Mr. Muma's, the road is sunk below the surface of the ground. It has been used many years, and has been washed by rains, forming a natural rifle-pit, in which D. H. Hill posts his first line. Between this pathway and the pike is a cornfield, in which he stations his second line. His artillery is planted on the knoll, higher up, near the turnpike.
It is but a few rods from Muma's to the road. "Bloody Lane," the inhabitants call it now. The distance from Rulet's is less. There is an apple-orchard west of Rulet's house. Beyond that the ground rises sharp and steep. It is a rounded knoll, sloping towards the west into the sunken path.