A cheer swept the line as the dust rose higher and denser and nearer.
Banks of storm clouds were rising from the horizon. The air was thick and oppressive, as the two armies drew close in tense battle array. The turning movement had only been partly successful. It had been discovered before complete and a grey line had wheeled, gripped their muskets and stood ready to meet the attack.
The dust, cloud suddenly fell. McDowell's two divisions of eighteen thousand men spread out in the woods and made ready for the shock.
The sun burst through the gathering clouds for a moment and the edge of the woods flashed with polished steel.
A Federal battery dashed into position and placed one of its big black-wheeled guns in the front yard of a little white-washed farmhouse. The farmer's wife faced the commander with indignant fury:
"Take that thing outen my front yard!"
The dust-and sweat-covered men paid no attention. They quickly sunk the wheels into the ground and piled their shells in place for work.
The old woman stamped her foot and shouted again: "Take that thing away I tell you—I won't have it here!"
The captain seized his lanyard, trained his piece and the big black lips roared.
With a scream of terror the woman covered her ears, rushed inside and slammed the door. They found her torn and mangled body there after the battle. An answering shell had crashed through the roof and exploded.