A shout suddenly arose. Officers had seen through their glasses a column of dust rising far behind them. It was so vast that it could only be made by a great body of marching troops. But who were the men that were making it? In all the frightful din and excitement of the battle the question ran through the army of Thomas. If fresh enemies were coming upon their rear they were lost! If friends there was yet hope!
But they could not watch the tower of dust long. The enemy in front gave them no chance. Polk was still beating upon them, and Longstreet, having seized a ridge, was pouring an increased fire from his advanced position.
“If that cloud of dust encloses gray uniforms we're lost!” shouted Warner in Dick's ear.
“But it mustn't enclose 'em,” Dick shouted back. “Fate wouldn't play us such an awful trick! We can't lose, after having done and suffered so much!”
Fate would not say which. They could not send men to see, but as they fought they watched the cloud coming nearer and nearer, and Dick, whose lips had been moving for some time, realized suddenly that he was praying. “O God, save us! save us!” he was saying over and over. “Send the help to us who need it so sorely. Make us strong, O God, to meet our enemies!”
He and all his comrades wore masks of dust and burned gunpowder, often stained with scarlet. Their clothing was torn by bullets and reddened by dripping wounds. When they shouted to one another their voices came strained and husky from painful throats. Half the time they were blinded by the smoke and blaze of the firing. The crash did not seem so loud to them now, because they were partly deafened for the time by a cannonade of such violence and length.
Dick looked back once more at the great cloud of dust which was now much nearer, but there was nothing yet to indicate what it bore within, the bayonets of the North or those of the South. His anxiety became almost intolerable.
Thomas himself stood at that moment entirely alone in a clump of trees on the elevation called Horseshoe Ridge, watching the battle, seeing the enemy in overpowering numbers on both his flanks and even in his rear. Apparently everything was lost. Taciturn, he never described his feelings then, but in his soul he must have admired the magnificent courage with which his troops stood around him, and repelled the desperate assaults of a foe resolved to win. Although his face grew grimmer and his teeth set hard, he, too, must have watched the approaching cloud of dust with the most terrible anxiety. If it bore enemies in its bosom, then in very truth everything would be lost.
Down a road some miles from the battlefield a force of eight thousand men had been left as a reserve for one of the armies. They had long heard the terrific cannonade which was sending shattering echoes through the mountains, and both their chief and his second in command were eager to rush to the titanic combat. They could not obtain orders from their commander, but, at last, they marched swiftly to the field, all the eight thousand on fire with zeal to do their part.
It was the eight thousand who were making the great cloud of dust, and, as they came nearer and nearer, the suspense of Thomas' shattered brigades grew more terrible. Dick, reckless of shell and bullets, tried to pierce the cloud with his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a flag and uttered a wild shout of joy. It was the stars and stripes. The eight thousand were eight thousand of the North! He danced up and down on the stump, and shouted at the top of his voice: