Hundreds had dropped from exhaustion.

Some had died from heat and excessive exertion.

The mortality among the officers was frightful.

There were few hopeful hearts in the Southern army.
It was now three o'clock in the afternoon and Beauregard, through his glasses, saw a great column of dust rising above the tops of the trees.
His experience told him that it must be made by marching troops, but what troops were they, Northern or Southern?
In an agony of suspense he appealed to the generals around him, but they could tell nothing.
He sent off aides at a gallop to see, but meanwhile he and his generals could only wait, while the column of dust grew broader and broader and higher and higher.

His heart sank like a plummet in a pool.